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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654534">Fifteen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/unn_known/pseuds/unn_known'>unn_known</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>One Direction</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Foreign Exchange Student, Multi, OU, Original Universe, Teenage Friendship, long-lost friends</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-04-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 02:20:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>33,937</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25654534</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/unn_known/pseuds/unn_known</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Seren has to say goodbye to her sister at thirteen, her life is turned upside down. The loss rocks her entire family and becomes the talk of the town. When she is accepted into her school’s foreign exchange program at fifteen, she clings to the opportunity to redefine herself, to escape the whispers and judgement and find who she really is.</p><p>She never expected to grow so close to the family who takes her in for the year; she didn’t anticipate any of them to have such a lasting impression on her, and she certainly didn’t plan on falling for the green-eyed boy who became her port of safety in such a tumultuous time.</p><p>At twenty-one, fate brings the biggest surprises she has had to deal with since she woke up to find Sophie gone, and Seren is left scrambling to keep up with all the changes that barrel into her life.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Harry Styles &amp; Original Female Character(s), Harry Styles/Original Female Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>9</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. ☼►prologue◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>The traffic light flashed, red flickering in and out of existence. Hazy end-of-summer heat blanketed the streets, wrapped the town in its heavy grip, and an echoing strain of a horn blared in the distance. The freight train continued on its trip, and the sleepy town remained forgotten by the conductor. The townspeople slept on peacefully in their beds, all preparing for another scorching day in a few hours’ time.</p><p>The stretch of darkness - barely interrupted by the handful of street lamps on the corners - was broken by the bright flash of headlights. Red and rusty and somehow managing to stay in one piece, the car didn’t bother slowing down before going through the flashing traffic light, taking the turn much faster than recommended. The brake lights disappeared into the black of night.</p><p>Ten miles away, a bed was made, blankets tucked in tight. A note on the pillow was the only thing left behind in the ghost of a disappearance.</p>
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<a name="section0002"><h2>2. ☼►one◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>An alarm screamed loudly in the bedroom at the top of the stairs, but nobody hit the button. It wasn’t long before the noise dredged my thirteen-year-old self from the clutches of sleep. I rolled out bed, scrubbed a hand over my eyes, and shuffled down the hall. My vision was blurry as I pushed open the door and, yawning widely, grumbled out an order - a plea - for Sophie to press the snooze button.</p>
<p>When the sound continued without any movement from the bed, I dropped my hands to my sides, stared blankly around the room. My gaze tracked over the star-splashed comforter, the pattern interrupted by the stuffed unicorn Sophie hadn’t slept with for years. A folded piece of paper sat in the centre of the pillow.</p>
<p>My hands trembled as I picked the note up, and the words blurred with my tears. My parents were already, thankfully, awake when I rushed down the stairs. My father held out a hand to pull me to a stop when I tripped over my own feet. My mother glanced up from her paper, brows drawing tightly together over her dark eyes.</p>
<p>I couldn’t speak - the words would not come out, my tongue leaden in my mouth. So I merely shoved the note in my mom’s direction. Theresa took the note and called up the stairs for Sophie to hurry up or she’d be late for school. At my insistent gesturing, Theresa rolled her eyes even as she opened the paper.</p>
<p>“Sophie?”</p>
<p>I stood rooted to the spot as my mother rushed from the kitchen. The silence echoed with the thundering footsteps, and time froze when her scream shattered the world. Alexander bolted to his feet, leaving me alone in the kitchen. I lowered myself shakily into a chair, throat tightening with fear and pain and anger. My chest was hollow and cold, limbs heavy. The grain of the wooden dining table grew fuzzy, and I closed my eyes against the tears.</p>
<p>I just couldn’t believe this was happening. I couldn’t believe my sister was gone. Sophie just disappeared into the middle of the night with nothing to explain but a short note only saying “<i>I’ve got to go. I’m sorry. I love you</i>.” She never gave any indication that she was so unhappy at home that she would run away.</p>
<p>My father stormed back down the stairs moments later. My mom’s crying followed him, and I watched as he grabbed the house phone from its cradle. He glanced at me over his shoulder, eyes dulled by emotions I couldn’t read.</p>
<p>“Seren, get ready for school.”</p>
<p>“Dad…”</p>
<p>“Go.”</p>
<p>His voice was hard, brooking no arguments, so I crossed the room to take a packet of PopTarts from the cabinet. The beeping of the buttons had never been that loud before, but now they deafened me. I came to a stop at the base of the staircase.</p>
<p>“Do you think she’s going to come back?”</p>
<p>He didn’t answer, much like I expected. With one final look at my dad, I turned and headed up to my room. Sophie’s door was wide open as I passed, and I stopped in the doorway to stare at my mother and the empty room beyond.</p>
<p>It was no surprise that the neighbours already knew about Sophie being gone. Madeline cocked her head as I approached the bus stop, a sympathetic twist to her lips. Her brother nodded succinctly then focused on the book in his hand.</p>
<p>“So you don’t know where she ran to?” asked Madeline, innocent enough that it would have been easy to mistake her tone for genuine concern. But I knew better. “Mom says she’ll be back by dinner time.”</p>
<p>I bit my tongue to keep the words from pouring out. It wasn’t any of Madeline’s business what happened. It wasn’t anybody’s business. Madeline shot me an appraising look then shook out her curls. Weak morning sunlight gleamed off the brown, sending tendrils of copper through the strands, and I absentmindedly wondered how long the other girl spent doing her hair this morning.</p>
<p>“I mean, honestly? We all kind of expected this to happen. Sophie’s always been kinda wild, y’know?”</p>
<p>“Maddy.”</p>
<p>“What, Vic? It’s true. She was caught drinking out at Old Man Willard’s just a few weeks ago, so it isn’t surprising that she ran away.”</p>
<p>“Shut up, Maddy.”</p>
<p>“Listen to your brother, Madeline,” I snapped, gritting my teeth.</p>
<p>“Why? You live with her. You should have known that she’d get a burr up her ass and -”</p>
<p>I stared at my knuckles, aching from the impact, while Madeline screeched and held her face. Victor barely glanced away from the pages of his book to inspect the scene before him, then he shrugged and went back to reading. Madeline screamed out a warning that this wasn’t over and stomped back toward her house. I watched her go without emotion; the rage had already disappeared, leaving behind the confusion I had felt since I woke up.</p>
<p>Rumours flooded the school throughout the day, each one more absurd than the last. I overheard various different theories about Sophie’s vanishing act as I made her way from class to class. No one confronted me for answers, though, and I was inordinately thankful for that. I didn’t have any to give, and it didn’t matter if I did - they didn’t deserve explanations.</p>
<p>However, I did. My family did. We deserved some sort of reason beyond waking up to find one of our own gone. Sophie didn’t think we did, evidently, and now the rest of us were left with questions that we would never get answers for.</p>
<p>“Miss Schulz, my office?”</p>
<p>I rolled my eyes, slammed my locker door shut, and turned to face the guidance counsellor. “Why?”</p>
<p>“I think we can talk about that in my office.”</p>
<p>“I’m going to be late for my bus.”</p>
<p>“First thing tomorrow, then,” Miss Sorento said before turning on her heel.</p>
<p>I watched her go. I knew I would have to actually follow through with meeting with the counsellor - it would be impossible not to - but I really didn’t want to spend however long in a closed-off room talking to a woman I barely knew. Confronting my thoughts and feelings about my sister was the last thing I felt like doing.</p>
<p>As I walked out to the line of buses, I stared up at the sky and felt the confusion finally give way to unrelenting anger.</p>
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<a name="section0003"><h2>3. ☼►two◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>I hefted my bag further onto my shoulders, ducking my head at the inquisitive looks sent my way. Of course people would still be talking about Sophie’s disappearance. After all, it had only been a month since the seventeen-year-old vanished in the night without a trace. Officers had promised to keep up the searches, but the leads they had were rapidly turning unsuccessful, wild goose-chases that brought no results.</p><p>Sophie’s red, rusted Escort was found in the next city over two days after my parents reported her as missing, but there weren’t any clues to be found. It was disheartening, really, to listen to the cops hem and haw about the reality. I knew that the fact that the car was abandoned without any signs of struggle meant that my sister chose this path. Sophie was officially declared a runaway after that; her face was plastered on every news channel, all over the town, any- and everywhere that someone might have seen her.</p><p>Still no answers came.</p><p>My gaze scanned over the cafeteria, desperately searching for privacy to hide away from my classmates, and I hurried to the furthest corner. Whispers followed me, though nobody spoke to me. Of course they wouldn’t. Why would they say anything directly to me? I was just the sister of the runaway, which meant something was wrong in the family, and who was to say that there wasn’t something wrong with <i>me</i>?</p><p>“-think she was abducted,” Bailey was saying as I passed the Ag/FFA table, and Devin shook his head.</p><p>“Nah, there would have been some sort of ransom demand. Maybe she was murdered.”</p><p>My grip on the tray tightened, and I clenched my teeth until my jaw ached. All I wanted to do was drop the tray, turn, and punch all of them in the face for what they were saying. But fighting wouldn’t do anything but cause more stress for my parents. They were barely hanging on as it was, and having a call from the principal about their remaining daughter getting into a fight would only make things worse.</p><p>So I set my lunch at an empty space on the way to the corner, dropping to sit on the cold floor with my face pressed to my knees.</p><p>Mister Harper stepped into the cafeteria five minutes later, eyes scanning over the students at the tables. I knew who he was looking for - I’d intentionally skipped the meeting with the counsellor this morning. I had been going every week since Sophie ran away, and it was quickly turning out to be little more than a waste of my time. Talking about it wasn’t going to bring my sister back. Why even bother with the pretence?</p><p>Thankfully, the principal didn’t see me where I sat, and I couldn’t help but feel thankful that my classmates were useful at least one thing - obscuring me from vision. I almost wished for the days where I was invisible to everyone. Where no one bothered to give me a second look. I wasn’t popular, I wasn’t highly accomplished at the “smarter” topics, I was average. Blissfully, unashamedly average.</p><p>Until Sophie disappeared and I was left behind. Even a month later, I was still a novelty. A freak.</p><p>The months that slipped by provided refuge. I was an outcast, but people stopped talking about me. About Sophie. Topics turned to schoolwork and parties and extracurriculars. I was able to slip back into the background. I might not have had any friends left from Before, but I didn’t mind. It kept me under the radar and out of trouble.</p><p>The year finally ended, and summer began. Though memories lingered in the house, my parents steadfastly refused to move. My fourteenth birthday came and went, unacknowledged as something to celebrate. I could find no reason to have cake and ice cream and a house full of people I couldn’t care less about. Not when the one person I wanted to be there... wasn’t.</p><p>So I spent the day doing the same thing I always did: I read books, went for walks, listened to music. Most of all, I pretended I wasn’t still desperate for my sister to come back. Before I fell asleep that night, however, I made a wish on the brightest star that Sophie would be home by the next year.</p><p>It was easier to avoid reality, who I was and what my family had suffered, by the time the school year began. The influx of students from the surrounding four middle schools certainly helped. I didn’t try to make friends with anybody, and nobody tried to make friends with me. Everyone else was too worried about making it through the first year of high school. I was too preoccupied with getting away from the past.</p><p>Mister Patterson stood in the centre of the corridor, dark eyes scanning over the heads of the students that filed past. I stifled a sigh and shoved past him, but luck wasn’t on my side. His heavy hand landed on my shoulder, pulled her to a stop. I reluctantly turned to face him. The slight smile on his face wasn’t as reassuring as he might have anticipated.</p><p>“Mister Brooks would like to see you in his office.”</p><p>“Now?”</p><p>At Mister Harper’s nod, I adjusted my bag on my shoulder and pivoted on my heel. The guidance counsellor glanced up when I knocked on the door, waving me in. I knew what this meeting would be about - the same as it had been since Sophie left.</p><p>To my complete surprise, Mister Brooks didn’t ask how I was doing. He only held out a brochure once she sat. “Your old counsellor got in contact with me, said she thought this might be beneficial for you.”</p><p>“What is it?”</p><p>“The foreign exchange program. We’ve got a few students coming in from abroad, and Miss Sorento thinks you should be one of the ones going over.”</p><p>“You agree with her?”</p><p>“I think you’ve had a really shitty thing happen to your family,” Mister Brooks said with a sigh, and I blinked in the face of his frankness. “And I think that in this small of a town, you’re definitely under scrutiny from your peers because of it. So yes, I feel this might be good for you to do. Get yourself some space, some clarity.”</p><p>“What do I need to do?” I asked quietly, already reading the brochure for the program.</p><p>The counsellor walked me through the steps of filling out the application, and I managed to forget, just for a minute, about Sophie’s selfishness and how my family had been trying to come to terms with it ever since. Mister Brooks promised that he would get a response sometime during the summer and that he and Miss Sorento would do everything in their power to get me that spot. I stopped at the door, stared out at the rest of the office staff.</p><p>“What happens if we can’t afford this?”</p><p>The counsellor sighed and tapped his fingers on his desk. “We’ll figure it out.”</p><p>June found Sophie’s room still empty, still closed off, even as I counted another year gone. Fifteen now, and I was tired. Bone-deep and stealing away the last bit of my hope, the tiredness was unrelenting. The worst part of it all was that I kept everything bottled up so as not to bother my parents. They were struggling enough. I couldn’t be selfish like my sister was.</p><p>Beads of sweat slipped down my forehead and spine, dripped into my eyes. I would be less miserable if the heat wasn’t so drenched with moisture, even with the sun beating down and nary a breeze to be felt. I blew out a breath and shifted to get more comfortable on the hard ground beside the shed.</p><p>I picked this spot simply for the shade it offered and the distance from the house. My mother was off work today, which meant that I stayed outside. I couldn’t handle any more of her crying, the haunted glaze in her eyes or the way she would stare up the stairs at Sophie’s closed door. It was too much.</p><p>The rumbling of an engine neared, and I leaned forward enough to see the white truck coming to a stop at the end of the driveway. The mailman deposited the post into the box, the metal door clinking against the frame, then the truck was gone down the road. I waited until I could no longer see the truck before pushing to my feet.</p><p>“Post is here,” I announced as I dropped the stack of envelopes onto the kitchen table in front of my mom.</p><p>She nodded slowly, despondently, and I bit back a sigh. This had become the new normal, but that didn’t make it any easier to deal with. I made her way to the refrigerator while my mother reached for the post. It wasn’t until I had poured a glass of juice and drank half of it that I realised that the room was far too silent.</p><p>I turned from the fridge and frowned. My mother was staring down at a letter, eyes wide and swimming with tears.</p><p>“Mom? What is it?”</p><p>Theresa cleared her throat and finally met my eye. “The, uh, the foreign exchange program… You were accepted.”</p><p>“Really?”</p><p>“It says you were selected as one of the district’s four students to be a participant and they’ll send more information once they have some.”</p><p>“I’m - I actually got in?”</p><p>“Seren. You got in.”</p><p>Though she smiled, I could tell it was forced. The edges of it were tinged too much with sadness, and it didn’t quite reach her eyes. But I knew better than to mention it. It would only serve to sever the tenuous joy that we both felt.</p><p>So I shoved herself to my feet, rounded the table, and hugged my mother as tightly as I could. I pretended I couldn’t feel the way her shoulders were shaking, just slightly. Grabbing up the letter, I kissed my mom’s cheek and headed up to my room.</p><p>The door at the top of the stairs was closed as it had been for a little under two years. It hadn’t been opened - none of us had the heart to open it - since the police examined the room. I wasn’t going to be the one to change it. Heart heavy in my ribs, I pressed my fingertips lightly to the cool wood as I passed.</p><p>It might have been the wrong choice, but I gave up long ago on expecting any new information about my sister. Wasn’t that what most true-crime shows said, anyway? The case would go cold after a certain amount of time, and the lack of leads meant that the officers had to put their efforts toward other cases that <i>could</i> be solved. I was only glad for the chance to leave, to get away from everything that Sophie had put us through.</p><p>I sprawled across my bed, stared at the ceiling. Being so far away from my parents would be hard, but the opportunity was just too good to pass up. It signified a reprieve from the small-town life that was full of gossip and noses in business where they didn’t belong.</p><p>It would be worth the pain, I thought, to be free.</p><p>The next few weeks flew by. My mother took me shopping for enough new clothes for at least three weeks, pyjamas and underwear and outfits for all weather. She wanted me to look my best for the host family, and most of my clothes had become rather shabby with use. My father hadn’t said a word about the upcoming departure, but I hardly expected him to - he didn’t speak much any more unless he was drunk.</p><p>“Which country did they say you’d be going to?” he questioned as my mom folded another sweatshirt, and I reached for the paper that had come a few days ago. “England. Why England?”</p><p>“Because it’s still a different culture. Sure, we speak the same language, but they have different customs and stuff.”</p><p>His face twisted up, but he stayed silent. After a few minutes, he walked away, his footsteps thumping against the stairs on his descent. I rolled my eyes when my mother sighed and packed another pair of pyjamas.</p><p>Their marriage had become strained since Sophie left. Too often I had dealt with neither of them making an effort to talk to each other. More nights than not, I had found my father sleeping in the guest bedroom, though nobody spoke of it. I found the entire situation awkward, uncomfortable. I just couldn’t understand why they would stay together if they were so miserable.</p><p>My mother stopped in the doorway once the suitcases were packed up and set against the wall, awaiting the day I left. Her eyes glimmered with unshed tears, but she didn’t let them fall.</p><p>“I hope you have fun, Sare. I really do. I hope you have fun and learn a lot and make lasting friendships, but… Most importantly, I hope you come back.”</p><p>“I will, Mom,” I promised on a whisper, but it had to be enough.</p>
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<a name="section0004"><h2>4. ☼►three◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>The plane smoothed out as it slowed, and I reluctantly released the tight grip on the armrests. The flight itself was fine; it was just the taking off and landing that I detested. The tiny old woman sat next to me patted my hand gingerly, giving me as comforting a smile as possible.</p>
<p>It did little to assuage my fears of the aeroplane suddenly exploding into a fiery blast. Thankfully, the aircraft came to a stop, still in one piece, and I swallowed thickly as everyone around me stood. I managed to grab my carry-on from the overhead compartment and followed the throng of people out of the terminal. The old woman smiled at me before disappearing into the crowd.</p>
<p>I remembered suddenly that I didn’t know much about the family that would be hosting me for the year - I hadn’t read the file or looked at the pictures, so I could only hope they weren’t awful humans. Nervous fluttering started up in my belly the further I walked from the gate, but I kept pushing on.</p>
<p>Tugging my bag more securely onto my shoulder, I stared around at the clusters of people inside the airport. Dozens of groups held up signs bearing names of who they were waiting for, cheering and crying whenever they found their loved one.</p>
<p>It wasn’t long before a bright yellow-poster board caught my attention, the name <i>Sara</i> written in enormous, sparkly-painted letters with my school photo pasted just below. I grimaced at the four letters and pushed my way through the people.</p>
<p>The woman caught sight of me first, her face splitting into a wide smile as she nudged the man next to her. When I got close enough, the woman hesitated then opened her arms. I shifted awkwardly but allowed myself to be wrapped up in a tight hug, one that was somehow simultaneously uncomfortable and reassuring. I forced a smile when the woman stepped back.</p>
<p>“Hi, I’m Anne. It’s so great to finally meet you.”</p>
<p>I cleared my throat quietly, but no words would come. So I gave Anne the most real smile I could dredge up before focusing on the man who asked how the flight was. I was only able to shrug in response - it was long, bumpy, and tiring. What more could be said?</p>
<p>Anne draped her arm over my shoulders, steering me toward the baggage claim, and her family followed closely behind. She introduced the others on the way, but I hardly heard her; my mind was racing far too much to comprehend the names being recited.</p>
<p>Robin waited patiently as I looked over the bags on the conveyor, searching for the blue-striped luggage. Once I pointed to the two that were mine, he grabbed them up quickly and carried them while Anne lead the group to the exit. I hunched in on myself as we walked, and Anne rested a hand gently on my back, thumb stroking gently along my shoulder-blade.</p>
<p>The drive back to their house was unsettling. The parents stayed mostly quiet, occasionally piping up with some comment about the buildings they passed, and the few questions the daughter asked were pleasant, not intrusive at all. I was still uncomfortable with the attention.</p>
<p>The lack of any speaking from the boy was far more discomfiting, however. His green eyes darted from the world outside the window to me every so often, and his brows twitched slightly, as if he were preventing himself from expressing his curiosity. I forced herself to sit still even under his scrutiny. The last thing I wanted to do was draw his focus to where I sat between brother and sister.</p>
<p>Anne’s hand was soft yet firm against my lower back, and I went where I was guided, down a short hall and through a doorway. I heard a quiet <i>click</i> before the room was bathed in a soft glow. I blinked in the sudden illumination - though the lamplight wasn’t overly-bright, it was an abrupt change from dark to light. Anne gave me a comforting smile before stepping out of the way.</p>
<p>Robin set the suitcases on the floor against the wall, dipped his chin succinctly, and walked away as quickly as he came. Anne stared after him with an expression on her face, one that I hadn’t seen on my parents’ faces in a long time. I looked away, stomach twisting with something uncomfortable that I couldn’t quite name.</p>
<p>“We’ll let you get settled in, love. If you need anything at all, I’ll be right out in the front room.”</p>
<p>I nodded slowly, letting Anne embrace me again. Once she was gone, I pushed the door shut and breathed out slowly. The room was spotless when I turned around again to examine the space I would inhabit while in the program.</p>
<p>Tiny flowers dotted the bedspread, pinpricks of pink in a sea of white; the ruffled hem brushed along the carpeting, and pillows in matching cases lined the headboard. The bookcase was stuffed with novels of all sizes and colours, but I ignored them. I wasn’t in the mood to investigate what kind of stories interested Gemma.</p>
<p>Steeling my spine against the crushing loneliness, I lugged her suitcases onto the bed and unzipped them. The clothing inside mocked me, reminded me again this was the only way I could ever get away from my sister’s disappearance. I shuddered and pushed away the thoughts, focusing on unpacking.</p>
<p>There was only so much to fold and place in the drawers, though, so I was sat on the end of the bed within minutes. I stared down at the floor and tried to breathe steadily, struggled to ignore the aching in my chest.</p>
<p>I thought I wanted this, to be far from my hometown and free from my past. So why was it so hard to deal with now that I had taken that chance? A small voice in my head whispered that I was doing exactly what Sophie had done. Like my sister, I left my parents behind and took off for a different world.</p>
<p>My breath came out in a shaky gust as I wiggled my toes, desperate to get feeling in them again. Belatedly, I realised I was still wearing my shoes. I leaned down to unlace them and pull them off, tucking them under the edge of the bed frame, and sniffled when a tear slipped down my cheek.</p>
<p>A knock on the door dragged my attention away from my patterned socks, and my head snapped up to see the boy stood in the doorway. Harry gave me a slight smile, shrugged jerkily.</p>
<p>“It’s time for dinner.”</p>
<p>I hesitated. I wasn’t hungry, and I couldn’t see how being around other people would possibly be pleasant. Not right now. My mother’s voice echoed in my mind, reminding me to be on my best behaviour and make a good impressions. So I silently followed him down the hallway. My footsteps were barely quieter than the pounding of my heart.</p>
<p>Harry pulled out the chair between Anne and Gemma, waiting until I sat before making his way to his own seat. Anne smiled, patted my hand, and as if a choreographed dance, everyone moved to fill their plates and pass platters back and forth. Though everything looked and smelled delicious - if slightly unfamiliar - I couldn’t force myself to eat more than a couple of bites.</p>
<p>The flight had worn me out; twelve hours and sprinting through an airport to make the connection was hell on a person, especially one who was already struggling to maintain composure. The worst part was that I was homesick for a place in which I was utterly miserable. And there was nothing I could do to make it make sense to myself.</p>
<p>Robin asked about my life back home, and my mouth ran dry, tongue growing heavy in my mouth. I squirmed under their attention as the others listened to me talk about my parents. The small town. The nosey neighbours who meant well but pried too often. It took more effort than expected to consciously avoid speaking about Sophie.</p>
<p>Her existence had been an enormous part of my life for the last fifteen years, and her running away was no different. In fact, it was an even bigger piece of my history, considering how often I was accosted by everyone talking about it. But now, I was studiously refusing to say a single word about my sister. If I didn’t speak of her, I could pretend she hadn’t changed my entire world so quickly.</p>
<p>Mortification welled up as tears pricked at my eyes, and I ducked her head and tried to sniffle as quietly as I could. Unfortunately, Anna heard, anyway. The woman reached over to pat my hand gently. Her smile was comforting, and I appreciated the thought even though it didn’t help me feel any better. No less confused and mixed-up and broken into pieces.</p>
<p>“You can go to bed if you’d like, love. I know you’ve had a long day.”</p>
<p>“Are-are you sure? I should help clean up first.”</p>
<p>Anne waved off my protest, and with nothing else to do, I made my way back to the bedroom. Their voices filtered through the walls as I changed into a pair of pyjamas. It was awkward, I thought, to be taking over the bedroom of a stranger while she and her family were just on the other side of the door. It put my inner turmoil into stark contrast, the easy chatting and laughter so different than the mess inside of me.</p>
<p>Gemma was nice, though, and had rushed to assure me on the drive that she didn’t need her room any longer anyway. Evidently, she would be off to university next week, so I was free to make her room into my own. I knew I wouldn’t. This would never be mine. None of this.</p>
<p><i>At least the moon is still the same</i>, my brain whispered as I stared through the gap in the curtains. The watery glow in the sky painted heavy shadows on the ground, and stars dotted the stretch of black, twinkling down onto the world below. Sighing, I closed my eyes and curled into a tight ball. Sleep came slowly, but when it did, I was swallowed whole and ripped into a land of dreaming.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. ☼►four◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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</div><p>Monday morning dawned bright, though clouds edged the horizon. I stayed burrowed under the covers and squeezed my eyes closed against the sunlight pouring in through the window. Maybe if I stayed quiet enough, <i>still</i> enough, I could wake up three years ago, and this would all turn out to be a dream. Sophie would be coming in and jumping on my bed any second.</p><p>Unfortunately, my hopes were dashed by a quick knock on the door. My sister would never have such respect like that. Anne’s voice came through the wood, reminding me that it was time to get ready for school. I threw back my blankets and stared at the ceiling. School. Right, the reason I was even here in the first place. I slowly forced myself out of bed, padded across the room to where she had hung my uniform on the closet door.</p><p>“Sara? Are you up?”</p><p>“Uh, y-yeah, I’m getting dressed now.”</p><p>Her smile was evident in her voice when she told me that breakfast was on the table, then her footsteps faded away. I turned back to the clothes, grimacing. I had no other choice, though, so I changed quickly into the outfit I was forced to wear every day of the school-year.</p><p>The sleeves of the white button-down were uncomfortably tight around my wrists, and I detested having to wear tights. Looking in the full-length mirror, I sighed and fidgeted with the hem of my jumper. I looked ridiculous. The urge to dress in my normal jeans and T-shirt was almost impossible to resist.</p><p>My fingers tugged at the collar of my shirt as I headed down the hallway. Harry was already halfway through his breakfast by the time I stepped into the kitchen. I swallowed thickly and sat in the chair across from him. He nodded in my direction but didn’t speak, so I took that as my cue to remain just as silent. Anne cocked her head to the side, her chin cupped by her palm as her elbow rested on the table.</p><p>“Would you like some help with your hair?”</p><p>I ran my fingers through my hair and winced - I thought I’d managed to get the tangles out. “If you don’t mind, please?”</p><p>“Of course not.”</p><p>Thankfully, she waited until I’d eaten my fill before she went to retrieve a hairbrush. Harry took my plate with his wen he stood, and I stared after him, confused. He’d not said a word to me since I arrived beyond telling me it was time for dinner; I couldn’t figure out what I had done so wrong already.</p><p>I didn’t have time to dwell on it, however; Anne came back after a moment, an obviously-unused hairbrush in hand, and I sat still as possible while she brushed out the knots left in my hair. Her movements were gentle and methodical, and soon enough, she was stepping back. I reached up to touch the end of the plait.</p><p>“Thanks. I- I appreciate it.”</p><p>“Anytime, darling. Now, best go brush your teeth and head to school. Harry, you’ll walk with her?”</p><p>“No, Mum, I’m going to make her go alone.”</p><p>Anne swatted goodnaturedly at her son’s head, and I was unable to stifle my giggle at the scene in front of me. It was so unlike home, so different to the silence and disconnect that permeated every inch of the house I grew up in. He grinned widely, ducking past his mother, and I wondered why life had to be so unfair.</p><p>It took ten minutes, but then Harry and I stood on the front step. Out there in the world, I couldn’t focus on anything other than the absolute panic and nervousness that was devouring me. I knew what to expect back in Indiana, no matter how unpleasant it was to deal with, but here… I had no idea what I was walking into.</p><p>I drew in a steadying breath and followed dutifully after Harry as he ambled down the short walk. He glanced over at me then tugged on my arm; I stumbled at the abrupt stop, and his lips twitched, though no smile fully formed. He moved slowly enough to give me warning, and I scarcely breathed as he adjusted the knot of my tie, smoothed it down beneath my jumper.</p><p>“Nervous?”</p><p>My laugh was manic, breathy, and I nodded vehemently. “Incredibly so.”</p><p>“You’ll do okay.”</p><p>“What if nobody likes me?” I whispered after we’d walked for a few minutes in silence, and he turned his head toward me, brows furrowing. “I mean, I’m a new student. An American one, at that.”</p><p>“I wouldn’t worry too much about it. People are generally nice here. Some advice?”</p><p>“Please?”</p><p>“Just… know who you are, and nothing they may possibly say can matter.”</p><p>I dipped my chin in a jerky nod, and we fell quiet again. Our shoes scuffed against the pavement, the only sound between us, and I dragged in breaths that do nothing to steady me. I still felt a split-second away from throwing up all over my feet. I wasn’t sure if it was the sunshine overhead or my fear that was making me sweat so badly, but I tried not to think about it.</p><p>If I did, I would turn on my heel and run for the nearest airport or shipyard and find a way back home.</p><p>By the end of the day, I had introduced myself to dozens of people, half of them uninterested in my presence. The other half asked about living in the US so many times, I lost count. I’d even tried talking to someone without them initiating the conversation; it hadn’t worked out, but at least I could say that I made the attempt.</p><p>Harry had been an absolute angel - he guided me around to my classes and let me tag along with his friends. None of them had given me a second glance, but they weren’t outrightly rude, even if they had ignored me for the most part. Harry had even offered to sit with me during lunch, but I hadn’t wanted to draw attention to the fact that I was uncomfortable being on my own.</p><p>Anne greeted us at the door, and I let her wrap me in a warm embrace. It was disconcerting to be hugged so tightly, so unhesitatingly. She was such a sweet woman, and I found it difficult to be in her presence. She made me wish for a time long gone, when my mother and father were actually happy and my sister was home. For the hours spent as a family, instead of strangers bound by blood.</p><p>I choked back the sob that was building in my chest, forced a smile, and headed to the bedroom to change. Once I was dressed in a pair of pyjama pants and a George Strait concert T-shirt, I sat cross-legged on the bed with a notepad in my lap. The rhythmic <i>tap-tap-tap</i> of the eraser bouncing off the paper did nothing to bring coherence to my thoughts, the words desperate to be heard. I blew out my breath and decided to just write.</p><p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Mom and Dad,</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Sorry. I would have started this sooner, but I’m still recovering from the long flight. The weekend has helped a bit. It’s nice here. The family is nice. The school is weird but nice. It’s… nice. I have to wear a uniform. I’m not sure I like it. I miss my jeans already.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>The son - his name is Harry - is really nice. He helped me find my way around the school, and he’s letting me hang out with him until I can make my own friends. The daughter is at college. Or I guess it’s called university here, and <span class="u">I’m</span> the one who’s in college. It’s weird. I don’t know. See, Dad - cultural differences between two English-speaking countries.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>I miss my bed. I miss you guys. I’m glad I did this, though. I think it could be nice to learn about a new place like this. Reading about a different part of the world doesn’t compare to actually being there. Know what I mean? I don’t know. I’ll probably send this out tomorrow.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>How’s home?</i>
  </p>
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    <i>Love always, Seren.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>I set my pencil aside and reread the letter. A grimace twisted my lips at how many times I used the word ‘nice’. But it was the only positive adjective I could think of that didn’t imply that things were perfect. I sighed, tossing the notepad onto the nightstand.</p><p>Because nothing was perfect. I was almost four thousand miles away from my hometown. Everything was still so unfamiliar here - the furniture, the smells, the people - and I could only hope that my discomfort would ease as time went on. I didn’t want to imagine spending an entire year here just to leave feeling as awkward as the end as I did at that moment.</p><p>Harry was again the one to come get me when it was time for dinner. If he saw anything on my face that gave away what I was feeling, he didn’t speak of it. Either he was clueless to it or he was considerate enough to not acknowledge it. No matter what, I was grateful for it. I knew I’d fall apart if he tried.</p><p>No one seemed to mind that I didn’t say much at the table. They chatted to each other as I forced down bite after bite. Soon enough, my stomach threatened to expel its contents if I continued, even though I’d barely eaten half of what was on my plate. The guilt wasn’t enough to make me eat more, though.</p><p>Anne grabbed up the dirty dishes, carrying them to the kitchen, and Harry followed close behind with the rest. My fingers tapped lightly on my thigh as I watched them go. What was I to do? Robin cleared his throat and gestured toward the family room with an inquisitive look on his face. I swallowed back the hesitation and nodded.</p><p>My attention strayed from the television show within minutes; I had no idea what it was, and I didn’t care much for the characters. I stared around the room at all the photographs on the walls. Family portraits, pictures of all four of them at Christmas, school photos of Harry and Gemma. I chewed on my lower lip to stifle a laugh at the picture of Harry as a young child; his smile was the same, though his hair was much curlier as a teenager.</p><p>Tears prickled at my eyes when I thought of the frames that adorned the walls back home. The last photo of Sophie we would ever have again had been taken on her sixteenth birthday. She was in the middle of laughing, bright grin frozen for eternity, with her arms wrapped around her friends’ shoulders. We had no clue at the time that within the year, she would be gone in the dead of the night, leaving behind a gaping hole where she belonged.</p><p>I scrubbed at my cheeks with the hem of my shirt before anyone could see me crying. An audience wasn’t what I needed right now. I just needed a second to get control over myself again. Unfortunately, my tremulous breathing drew attention to the fact that I was hardly hanging on.</p><p>Anne sat next to me on the couch, her hand soft on my head as she stroked my hair, and I turned my head to give her a wobbly smile. She seemed to understand. Her fingers, warm and strong, laced with mine and offered comfort that I didn’t hesitate to soak in.</p><p>Wispy clouds obscured the stars, though the pale glow of the moon broke through and covered the town. I leaned my head against the cool glass of the window, staring out at the dark night. It was well after midnight, but I was still awake. Though I’d tried so hard to sleep, all I succeeded in doing was tossing and turning for hours until I gave up.</p><p>Thinking about Sophie earlier had apparently opened the door for the rest of the thoughts. Every memory since waking up to finding her gone, all the Hell my parents and I had gone through in the aftermath, all the friends I’d lost because I couldn’t bear the thought of being abandoned again. Or they thought I’d turn out to be like Sophie. Goodbyes were too hard, harder still when it was my sister who did the leaving.</p><p>Since the night she left, missing Sophie had been a bone-deep, perpetual ache that I’d not yet learnt to dispel. I still woke up hoping desperately, despite myself, for answers, and every night, I went to bed praying g that tomorrow would be the day she came home. I knew without a doubt that it was a hopeless wish, that she wasn’t going to show up some random day and we would pretend she never left. That she hadn’t missed out on two whole years of my life or caused a rift between our parents.</p><p>It didn’t stop me from trying, though. How could I not, when I’d witnessed the death of the love my mother and father had for each other. I watched them grow to resent each other, blame each other, <i>hate</i> each other because of what Sophie had done. It was a juvenile way of thinking, about me I had the maturity to know that, but what else could I do other than hope for her homecoming to fix everything that had gone wrong?</p><p>A sob bubbled out of me, and I squeezed my eyes tightly shut to stop the tears from slipping down my cheeks. The efforts were in vain, hot wetness sliding down my cheeks as I gasped aloud. Everything hurt - the pain spread from my heart to consume my entire body. It wasn’t fair, and there wasn’t a damned thing I could do to change it.</p><p>The door creaked as it swung open slowly, and I nearly fell off the windowsill at the unexpected sound. Harry poked his head into the room, and though it was dark, I could see him frowning. He blinked once, twice, then the sleepiness cleared from his eyes. I turned back to the window. I couldn’t let him see me like this.</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>I shrugged, an awkward jerk of my shoulders, and my mind raced in its search for an excuse that could explain my crying in the middle of the night. “Just missing home.”</p><p>“Do... do you want to talk about it?” he asked, glancing back over his shoulders as if to make sure his parents were still sleeping.</p><p>“No.” The word was sharp, sharper than it had any right to be, and I sighed and met his concerned gaze. “No. I’m okay. Thanks, though.”</p><p>His expression told me he didn’t believe me. My heart hammered in my chest, tattooed a painful rhythm against my ribs. I struggled to breathe properly through the tears and the fear that he would call me out on my lie - and that’s what it was. A lie. No matter how much truth was in it, because I <i>did</i> miss home, it wasn’t what was affecting me so fiercely. It would never be mere homesickness that tore me to shreds like that. His lips curved into a soft smile that shouldn’t be so comforting, and he nodded succinctly.</p><p>“I’m just down the hall if you change your mind.”</p><p>Harry pulled the door shut before I could reply, and I stared at the white-painted wood for a long minute. My lungs constricted at the consideration he had shown me. Shaking my head, I went back to gazing out at the night sky. And if more tears slipped free now that I was alone again, only the moon and I would know.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. ☼►five◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><p>The morning came only a few hours later. I hadn’t fallen asleep until the digital alarm clock on the nightstand said it was half-three, so it took a long minute before I realised the knocking sound wasn’t part of my dream. I groaned, tugging the comforter over my head, and rolled more tightly into a ball. Maybe if I ignored the knocking, the person would leave me alone and I would be able to get some more sleep.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, Harry didn’t get the memo that I would rather stay in bed all day instead of getting ready for school.</p>
<p>“Come on, Sara, we’ll be late if you don’t get up.”</p>
<p>“I’m up, I’m up,” I finally grumbled and pushed myself to sit up. When he continued rapping on the door, I groaned, throwing the pillow at the door; it wasn’t as satisfying as I hoped. “I said I’m up!”</p>
<p>“Just making sure!”</p>
<p>I rolled my eyes and debated whether to ignore the reality that I needed to go to school. With a heavy sigh, I decided it wasn’t the best choice - it could potentially get me thrown from the program. I shoved back the blankets and stumbled to my feet. The uniform was just as uncomfortable as the day before when I finished getting dressed, but I swallowed down my irritation and gathered up my dirty laundry.</p>
<p>Harry stopped me at the front door, rolling his eyes goodnaturedly, and I stood still as he adjusted my tie - again. I squeaked out a thanks though the mortification that coursed through me made it difficult. He shrugged off my gratitude, but I couldn’t believe I was still struggling with a damn tie. I’d tried my best to make the knot perfect, but I had failed.</p>
<p>I double-checked that I had everything before I followed Harry out the door.</p>
<p>The next couple of days went by slowly. I grew accustomed to the quiet walks to and from school, so they were no longer as uncomfortable as that first morning. By Wednesday, Harry and I were doing our homework together at the dining table. We even managed to get through a couple of stilted conversations, halting and awkward though they were.</p>
<p>Oddly enough, I found that the thing I appreciated most about him was that he never broached the topic of family. Hell, he steered clear of any questions about my life in general. He talked instead about how his group of friends came about, random bits of information about himself, and facts about his parents and sister that could help make my time in Holmes Chapel easier.</p>
<p>“My name is actually Seren.”</p>
<p>My announcement was abrupt, effectively cutting off whatever Harry was in the middle of saying, and his mouth closed with a clack. His eyes widened, just a bit, as he stared at me. I shrugged and turned back to the maths problem I’d been solving.</p>
<p>“It’s Seren. Not Sara.”</p>
<p>“Then why have you been letting us call you Sara?” he asked, disbelief painting his words.</p>
<p>Tapping my pencil against the tabletop, I kept my gaze on the workbook. “Sara is easier for people to hear and remember, I guess. Even if I actually come out and tell them my name isn’t Sara, they… call me Sara anyway. Seren’s too different.”</p>
<p>“Well, now I feel awful!” Harry shook his head. “We’ve been calling you the wrong name for a week. How did it not bother you?”</p>
<p>“Like I said, I’m used to it. It’s fine.”</p>
<p>“Well, I’ll do my best to remember it’s Seren. What does it even mean?”</p>
<p>“Thanks. And, uh, my parents told me it means ‘star’.”</p>
<p>He nodded slowly, turned his attention back to his schoolwork. The ticking of the clock on the wall filled the room, just barely masking the distant chirping of birds from outside. Jiggling my knee to the beat of the song playing in my head, I focused on my own assignment. I’d just finished the page when Harry cleared his throat quietly.</p>
<p>“I think Seren is a prettier name than Sara, anyway.”</p>
<p>I froze, jaw dropped, but he didn’t look away from the book in front of him. Heat flooded my face as his words repeated in my mind, and my chest felt tight and hot at the compliment. He was the first person outside of my parents and sister who ever accepted my name for what it was, not what they thought it should be. I coughed and struggled to find my voice, but no words came.</p>
<p>His eyes met mine, just for a split second. His lips quirked upwards, then he was back to his studies. I understood it as the sign it was, that no thanks were necessary.</p>
<p>The pleasure that his words brought stuck with me through the rest of the day. Dinner was a lot easier to get through, though I still didn’t talk about home very much. Instead, I told Anne and Robin about the tentative acquaintanceships I’d struck up with some of my classmates. The other students weren’t quite warmed up to me yet, but I made sure to imply that I thought it was merely a matter of time.</p>
<p>They were, after all, more receptive to allowing me into their social circles, but we knew it was a trial period only. If I passed muster, I could be considered an actual friend. If I didn’t… well, I certainly wouldn’t be worse off than I currently was. I still stayed with Harry most of the time, though. It was less stressful to be at his side than it was to put myself out there, to start conversations with people I didn’t know at all.</p>
<p>Anne smiled in pleasant surprise when Harry and I gathered up the dirty dishes, but she didn’t say more than a grateful “thank you” before disappearing into the other room with Robin. Harry handed me a dishtowel then stood in front of the sink; I leaned against the counter and watched his hands as he washed and rinsed the dinnerware.</p>
<p>We worked in silence until everything was sparkling and put away in its place. He’d had to walk me through where everything went, but he didn’t appear angry about it. Or even bored. He just spoke in that even tone of his, soft and pleasant as he guided me around the kitchen.</p>
<p>Once our task was completed, he disappeared down the hall to his bedroom while I curled up in the armchair in the family room. The television played quietly in the background, which gave me ample opportunity to open the novel I’d been reading. I found my page quickly and settled in to read as the adults watched their show.</p>
<p>I’d read <i>The Outsiders</i> when I was younger - before Sophie - and loved it then, but the emotions were hitting me harder now that I was roughly the same age as Ponyboy and Johnny. The pain that drowned the words, the realistic portrayal of stereotypes and growing up and never getting further in life… I hadn’t understood it at twelve, but I was beginning to.</p>
<p>My attention was so focused on the book that I didn’t realise I was chewing on the edge of my thumbnail, a habit I developed in the upheaval of my sister’s disappearing act - or hear someone speaking to me until fingers snapped in front of my face. I jolted in surprise, staring up with wide eyes at a grinning Harry, and scowled at his obvious amusement.</p>
<p>“Sorry, Seren, but I had to get your attention somehow.”</p>
<p>“Seren?” Anne questioned before clapping a hand over her mouth. “Have we been calling you the wrong name this entire time?”</p>
<p>I swallowed down a sigh and shrugged; my fingers picked at the edges of the page. “It’s okay.”</p>
<p>“Oh, sweetheart, I’m so sorry. You were just introduced to us as Sara, and we didn’t think to question it.”</p>
<p>“Honestly, Anne, it’s okay. Like I explained to Harry, I’m used to being called Sara. The joys of having an unusual name. It doesn’t bother me any more. Sara is fine, if you’d rather.”</p>
<p>“She’s gonna make it a point to call you Seren from now on,” Harry muttered in an undertone, then he gestured toward the bedrooms. “I actually came out here if you wanted to listen to music, but you seem to be busy reading, so I’ll leave you alone.”</p>
<p>“I can read and listen to music at the same time, Harry. I <i>am</i> capable of multitasking.”</p>
<p>Anne chewed on her lower lip then gave me a sheepish smile when my gaze landed on her; her hands twisted together in her lap. I smiled as reassuringly as I could and unfolded my legs from beneath me. Harry and I were quiet as we made our way down the short hallway.</p>
<p>For some reason, I wasn’t surprised or bothered by how unkempt he kept his bedroom. I’d never been incredibly zealous about organisation, myself - as long as I could find whatever I was looking for within a few minutes, I figured it was clean enough.</p>
<p>My parents disagreed. They <i>did</i>, anyway. Now, they didn’t care a lot. We’d come to an compromise that they wouldn’t pester me about picking up as long as I kept the chaos contained to my ‘disaster zone’, as they called it.</p>
<p>I sat gingerly on the end of his bed, pushing away a stray sock, and watched him move about. It wasn’t long before the stereo began playing an unfamiliar song, the beat slow yet driving. He grinned and fell backwards onto the mattress, closed his eyes. I watched his hands as they tapped on his belly then shook my head. Opening my book again, I fell back into the story that S.E. Hinton weaved.</p>
<p>Exactly when it happened, I wouldn’t remember, but I found myself stretched out on my stomach, side-by-side with him. His crooked smile sent something fluttering in my chest, something I never thought was real. I ignored it, rested my chin in my palm, and focused on the novel.</p>
<p>I knew it was coming. I did, but still, Johnny’s death shattered my heart. It had the last time I read it, too. This time, though, it was a more visceral pain. I couldn’t explain the difference. All I knew was that I ached fiercer than I had before. Tears burned in my eyes, and I let the book flip closed.</p>
<p>Harry’s eyes opened, narrowed, and his hand hovered in the air above my shoulder before coming to rest against my upper back. The warmth of the contact seeped through the cotton of my shirt, and I suppressed a shiver.</p>
<p>“Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“Johnny died,” I whispered tremulously, and his gaze darted from my face to the novel. I pushed myself to sit up, scrubbed at my cheeks. “Don’t you dare laugh at me.”</p>
<p>“Why would I laugh just because you’re crying over a fictional character?”</p>
<p>“Have you ever even read this book, Curly Sue?”</p>
<p>He frowned, green eyes flashing under furrowed brows, and I recognised the instant the name irritated him. It was in the way his lips thinned, his expression darkened. Deciding not to stick around in case he chose to yell at me, I took my book and what remained of my dignity back to the room I was sleeping in.</p>
<p>His door slammed shut down the hall, the sound echoing, and I winced. Maybe calling him names was the wrong thing to do, especially considering what he’d said hadn’t been all that mean. I just couldn’t find the courage to go back to his room and apologise. Not when he was upset.</p>
<p>I sighed, tossing <i>The Outsiders</i> onto the nightstand, and changed into a pair of cotton shorts and a T-shirt. The only thing I could do right now is go to bed and hope that Harry didn’t hate me by morning.</p>
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<a name="section0007"><h2>7. ☼►six◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>“Harry? Harry, it’s me.”</p>
<p>I tapped lightly on his door, whispering his name louder when there wasn’t a response. Thankfully, Anne and Robin hadn’t woken up when I glanced over my shoulder; their bedroom door was closed, no light coming from under it. Biting my lip, I continued knocking.</p>
<p>The door swung open abruptly, and I fell silent. Harry scrubbed a hand over his eyes, a dark shadow in front of me, lit from behind by the dim glow of a distant street-lamp. It took a second for my eyes to adjust, but when they did, I hit back a squeak of surprise at the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt. I swallowed and shifted my weight between my feet, forced my gaze to remain on his face.</p>
<p>He sighed when I didn’t speak immediately, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why are you waking me in the middle of the night?”</p>
<p>“I, uh, I couldn’t sleep. I wanted to apologise. I shouldn’t have called you Curly Sue.”</p>
<p>“Seren, I really, really don’t care that you called me a name. I’m not a child whose feelings get hurt over something like that.”</p>
<p>“Sorry,” I whispered after a long pause, before I scurried back to my room.</p>
<p>Of course my apology made things worse. It seemed to be my luck lately. We were finally becoming friends after a week of sharing a house, and I messed it up by insulting him - and again by dragging him from his bed at half-one just because my remorse made it impossible to sleep peacefully. I drew in a shaky breath, crawled between the sheets, and swore to myself that I would stay out of his way. I couldn’t make things more awkward if I wasn’t around him... right?</p>
<p>Unfortunately, nothing was ever as easy as planned.</p>
<p>I was out of bed before the alarm went off on Monday morning so he didn’t have to wake me. I finished my breakfast before he even reached the table. While he ate his own meal, I disappeared into my room without a word. Ten minutes later, the knot in my tie was perfect, my jumper smoothed down neatly. It took far more effort than I anticipated, and I almost asked for his help a few times. But I managed it on my own; he didn’t have to fix it as he had every day during my first week.</p>
<p>I felt confident about my self-made vow of avoiding him.</p>
<p>Right until it was time to actually leave for school.</p>
<p>The front door clicked closed as I hid in my room, and I pulled my bag over my shoulder and made my way down the hall. Anne gave me her customary hug, which I’d started looking forward to at some point, and I stepped out onto the front step, promptly running into Harry. He frowned, reached out to steady me. All I could do, even as I regained my balance, was gape at him like a fish.</p>
<p>“I thought you left already.”</p>
<p>“I was waiting for you.” His head cocked to the side, green eyes narrowing. “Are you okay?”</p>
<p>“I’m fine. You just startled me.”</p>
<p>I brushed past him and headed in the direction of the school. Annoyance flickered to life inside my chest when he caught up to me without trouble. <i>Damn his long legs</i>. Our arms swung in tandem, footfalls in almost identical pacing. I shifted my bag and glanced at him from the corner of my eye. His grin in response dripped with impishness, screamed that he knew something I didn’t.</p>
<p>“So why are you trying to avoid me?”</p>
<p>“What? Who said I was trying to avoid you?”</p>
<p>“You did. Well, rather, the fact you waited to leave the house until after you thought I’d already gone.”</p>
<p>I exhaled sharply. It figured that he’d found me out so easily. “Okay, so maybe I was.”</p>
<p>“I know you were. I want to know <i>why</i>.”</p>
<p>“Because of yesterday,” I admitted slowly as I turned my gaze to the ground; it was easier than meeting his eye.</p>
<p>“Because you called me Curly Sue?”</p>
<p>“And then woke you up to apologise just so I could make myself feel better.”</p>
<p>I took a few more steps before I realised I couldn’t hear his shoes against pavement. When I looked back over my shoulder, he’d stopped walking and was now stood stock-still, staring at me. An inscrutable expression covered his face. He made no move to join me, so I doubled back until I came to a stop in front of him.</p>
<p>“Seren, I told you last night when you woke me up. You calling me names didn’t hurt my feelings.”</p>
<p>“You were upset, though.”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes. “I was <i>irritated</i>, yes, because I hadn’t been trying to ridicule you for crying over a fictional character?”</p>
<p>“You weren’t?” I shifted my weight between my feet, hunched in on myself, and he smiled softly.</p>
<p>“Of course not. Feeling something because of a book is a good thing. But you seemed annoyed by me and lashed out. That’s what irritated me.” Harry scuffed the toe of his shoe against the ground then met my gaze through long lashes. “Although I can’t say I’m thrilled about being called ‘Curly Sue’ of all things.”</p>
<p>“I really like that movie,” I defended myself, though a smile tugged at the corners of my lips.</p>
<p>“I don’t think I’ve seen it.”</p>
<p>“Trust me, you’d remember if you did. Jim Belushi is perfect in it.”</p>
<p>We started walking toward the school again, and the guilt and negativity that had consumed me so viciously through the night were gone. I sucked my lower lip in between my teeth, wondering if the conversation meant we were okay now. The bright grin he sent my direction before rushing off to meet his friends assured me that yes, we were.</p>
<p>Even I could admit that it was an unfortunate thing that “Curly Sue” became my go-to nickname for Harry over the next week. Unfortunate for him, anyway. I still found it funny to watch the way his face screwed up in affront each time I said it. It was his fault, though. I only used the moniker when he became particularly annoying.</p>
<p>Thankfully, his reactions were much better than the first night. He would make the face but stop doing whatever he was doing that was irritating me. So the nickname grew to have a much better rate of acceptance - and more affection on my part - if the way he started merely rolling his eyes was any indication.</p>
<p>I found my own group of friends by the end of the second week, as well. Or, rather, Liza decided I was good enough to join the clique, and that was it. She never gave me a choice, and I certainly wasn’t going to disagree with her. She was the first one who showed any interest in me as a person, not just the American exchange student.</p>
<p>Our friendship stayed strictly within the walls of school, though, but I couldn’t begrudge her that. She didn’t know me from Adam, so how was she to know she could actually trust me? Anne was ecstatic when I first talked about Liza, and that happiness just seemed to grow with each passing day.</p>
<p>The end of the month came and brought scattered rainstorms with it. The walks that Harry and I took around town became less frequent as the skies grew more and more leaden with grey clouds. Even when no rain fell, I trusted him when he said it wasn’t worth the risk. So we found new ways to distract and entertain ourselves around the house, which usually involved card games or me reading books aloud to him while music played softly on his stereo.</p>
<p>Anne finally felt comfortable enough with my presence in the house that she added me to the chore rota. I was oddly thankful for that - it gave me something to do, some way to feel useful and productive. My time became split between spending time with the family and writing letters to my own back home.</p>
<p>It was nothing special, really, but it was routine. It was safety found in the repetition where my mind was not allowed to stray. It was enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. ☼►seven◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>I jerked to full awareness at a particularly loud clap of thunder, sat up as a bolt of lightning zigzagged across the sky. Rain pattered against the window in heavy <i>pit-pat</i>s, loud and echoing in the silence of my room. Wrapping the comforter around me, I padded across the room to stare out at the storm.</p>
<p>The trees bowed under the force of the wind, branches waving hauntingly against the dark sky. I shivered and tugged the blanket more securely around my body, even as I pressed my forehead to the cool glass. Storms had always been my favourite things in the world, second only to the anklet Sophie had gotten for Christmas when she was thirteen.</p>
<p>A shadow caught my attention, almost out of sight. Swaying and beckoning, I shifted until I could see it clearly. Heat flooded my cheeks, my heart dropping to the floor while acidic flames ate along my nerves, when I realised the silhouette wasn’t what - <i>who</i> - I thought it was. Who I’d hoped to see, no matter how unrealistic it would be. Chiding myself for being so helplessly idiotic, I yanked the curtains closed.</p>
<p>The dark hallway outside my room had become easier to navigate without sight over the last month, with all the times I couldn’t sleep; I’d found myself, night after night, pacing through the house because the walls of my room were inching ever nearer, closing in on me and pinning me with their suffocating existence.</p>
<p>The fact that it wasn’t my own bedroom had reaffirmed that I didn’t belong here - I never would. My spot in the program should have gone to someone more worthy of overseas studying. And worthy, I was not. I was selfish. I didn’t care about the culture.</p>
<p>I only cared about getting away from my hometown.</p>
<p>Another strike of lightning lit up the family room, and I wrapped myself in the throw blanket from the back of the couch, settling in to watch the storm blow itself out. I’d originally woken up because of another nightmare.</p>
<p>It had slipped from my mind the instant I opened my eyes, but the terror was still fresh in my mind. Icy tendrils clung to me, threatened to drown me in the cold. I shivered as goosebumps raced up my flesh, tucked my knees to my chest, and determinedly avoided looking at the shadows of the furniture.</p>
<p>Quiet footsteps neared, breaking me from my thoughts of Sophie, and I turned my head just enough to see a figure passing by the archway. A soft hissing filled the air - water coming from the tap - and glasses clinked together in the cupboard. Seconds ticked by; the analog clock was louder than the thunder that split the silence, then I heard the hollow thunk of a glass being set in the sink.</p>
<p>This time, I recognised the curls as the person walked past again, but I didn’t speak. It was much too late for conversation, and I certainly wasn’t in the mood to talk anyway.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, my presence didn’t go unnoticed. Harry stopped just out of view then walked backwards until he was at the archway again. The shuddering flash of lightning illuminated his face, his eyes an electric green in the momentary light, before the room fell dark once more. I closed my eyes as he tiptoed into the room and sat on the other end of the couch.</p>
<p>“Seren? It’s almost two in the morning. Why are you awake?”</p>
<p>“I, I had a nightmare and couldn’t get back to sleep.”</p>
<p>My whisper was quiet, and I almost believed he didn’t hear me. But he didn’t hesitate: He opened his arms and cocked his head in question. I smiled reluctantly and let myself be pulled into the circle of his arms. The contact sent warmth through me, and I rested my head on his shoulder. Everything was suddenly so heavy, as if it had grown in weight over the last few seconds. I was so tired of fighting the words.</p>
<p>“I have a sister.”</p>
<p>“You do?” he questioned quietly, voice drenched in confusion. “You’ve never talked about her.”</p>
<p>“Her name is Sophie. I, uh, I haven’t seen her since I was thirteen.”</p>
<p>He didn’t speak, didn’t break the quiet between us, and that was the permission I needed. I stayed close to him as I told him about her, how close we had been and how Sophie was always the first in line to kick the ass of anybody who hurt me. I spoke of all the times she and I would sneak out of our beds during midnight thunderstorms and sit on the back patio to watch them paint the sky with blinding white and deepest blacks.</p>
<p>The snowfalls we would sing praises about from the warmth and comfort of the couch.</p>
<p>The way we would spend an hour in the autumn sunshine, picking the crunchiest leaves and jumping onto them, relishing the crackling under our feet before running off to find the next one.</p>
<p>The Christmases and Thanksgivings and Halloweens and every day in between that Sophie made better for me, just because she was my sister, and I loved her. I looked up to her.</p>
<p>“She… she ran away in the middle of the night when she was seventeen. That was t-two years ago. We haven’t heard from her or gotten any answers about where she is or anything. The police have basically given up on the investigation.”</p>
<p>“Oh, I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>I shrugged and blew out a breath. “It sucks. I know - I <i>know</i> - it’s not gonna happen, but I keep hoping she’ll come back. Just… show up out of the blue, and everything will be okay again. And I hate her for leaving me like that.” Sniffling, I scrub a hand over my eyes to catch the tears. “We deserved more than a note saying she had to go. <i>I</i> deserved more than that.”</p>
<p>“Yes, you did. I’m sorry that you and your family have had to go through this.” His arms tightened around me, and though I wanted to cry with the agonising betrayal I still felt, his embrace gave me strength. He whispered softly, “I’m so sorry, Star.”</p>
<p>The nickname felt right in my ears, and I let the softness of it surround me, protect me from the maelstrom I’d felt for two painfully long years. Eventually, we parted, and Harry squeezed my hand comfortingly. I smiled, the first real one I’d given anyone in a while.</p>
<p>“Are you ready to try to sleep again?”</p>
<p>My gaze skimmed over his face, and I realised that he was struggling to keep his eyes open, his blinking slow and consistent. Biting my lip, I promised him that I would head to bed in just a bit. He paused then hugged me again before pushing to his feet.</p>
<p>I watched him disappear into the hallway, listened for the click of his door closing. Sleep wasn’t going to happen, I knew that well enough, so I settled back into my original position on the couch, tucked the blanket more securely around me, and focused on the storm and not the way guilt nagged at me for lying to him.</p>
<p>By the time morning came, I’d been awake for five hours, and my thoughts had devolved. From relieved that I had finally confided in someone over something so large in my life, to panic. What if Harry told his parents? I didn’t think I could handle a conversation with them about it, and lovely as Anne was, I knew she’d want to talk.</p>
<p>My worries were for nothing, evidently. The smile Harry sent me when we met at the table was tinged with his newfound knowledge, but he didn’t say a word about what I’d told him during the night. I was aware that there was plenty of time for him to do so. I just hoped that he wouldn’t.</p>
<p>I had to trust that he wouldn’t.</p>
<p>The next few weeks slipped by in a blur. Schoolwork took up most of my afternoons, even with Harry’s help on the lessons I was struggling to understand, and the weekends were full of activities with the other foreign exchange students. Harry spent more time at his friends’, which left me at the house with his parents. Robin and Anne tried their best to engage me in conversations, but more often than not, I couldn’t quite connect with them properly.</p>
<p>I was too afraid of saying the wrong thing, of letting my secret slip, that I’d preferred to stay silent if possible. Thankfully, Anne seemed to understand, even if she believed it was merely because I was shy. It worked - for all of us, really. They didn’t feel like they were failing as host parents, and I didn’t have to open up about the sister I lost.</p>
<p>Cold nipped at my cheeks, the tip of my nose, but I didn’t move from where I sat. Clouds blanketed the world, hid away the stars I knew were miles above my head, but still, a hazy glow filtered through from the moon. It was peaceful out here in the garden. Quiet and isolating. No masks were required, I could just be me.</p>
<p>Seren.</p>
<p>The fifteen-year-old who thought she knew what life was until life proved her wrong.</p>
<p>Anne and Robin had gone to bed an hour ago, and though she made me promise to get to sleep at a reasonable time, I had waited until I was certain they were asleep before slipping out the back door. Neither of them had seem worried that Harry wasn’t home, so I wasn’t worried, either. He’d become a beacon of hope at some point since I arrived a couple of months ago, and I was slowly growing to trust him completely.</p>
<p>Tugging my cardigan more closely around me, I settled further into the lounger and stared up at the sky. There wasn’t much to see, but the expanse of slowly-shifting grey was mesmerising. It promised change, something better if I could just hold on. Hold on to what, I wasn’t sure, but  the hope was there, weak and fragile and desperate for life.</p>
<p>“You’re home late.”</p>
<p>“<i>Fuck</i>. Seren, what the Hell?”</p>
<p>I flashed Harry a sheepish smile and shifted awkwardly in my seat at the table. I’d spent nearly two hours out in the cold of the night, only coming in when I lost feeling in my toes despite wearing three pairs of socks. Harry glared at me even as he joined me at the table.</p>
<p>“Want some?” I asked quietly, lifting my mug, and he shook his head.</p>
<p>“Why are you still awake?”</p>
<p>I shrugged, sipped at my tea. “Couldn’t sleep.”</p>
<p>“Worried that I wasn’t here?”</p>
<p>“Don’t flatter yourself, Curly Sue,” I said with a snort; wrapping my fingers around the mug, letting the warmth leech into my skin, I stared down at the milky liquid inside. “I just… I dunno. I think I’m finally homesick.”</p>
<p>He didn’t have much to say in response to that, but that was fine. Just seeing his face soften in understanding and sympathy was enough. Harry reached out to squeeze my hand comfortingly, and I ducked my head. It was the closest to the truth that I could manage at the moment. I didn’t even know what was going on in my own mind; how could I have explained it to him?</p>
<p>So I didn’t. I just let him clean up from my tea-making process then lead me to my room. He left me there in the hallway, moving on to his own bedroom. My tongue unglued itself from the roof of my mouth only after he’d shut his door, and my whispered <i>goodnight</i> hung in the air for a moment before dissipating into nothingness.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. ☼►eight◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>I laughed and stumbled to the side, my foot slipping from the pavement, as Harry shoved at my shoulder. He made a startled sound and reached for my arm, yanking me toward him. It only made me laugh harder. Once my feet were solidly beneath me again, I swatted at his arm though my grin betrayed any mock outrage I might have displayed. He looped his arm with mine, and we continued on our trek toward school.</p>
<p>I couldn’t remember exactly how, but we had started bickering about which movie was better: <i>The Notebook</i> or <i>Titanic</i>. He was firmly in Sparks Country, whereas I would always find Leo Di far superior. It was a lighthearted - and incredibly ridiculous - argument, but I was grateful for it. It cemented the idea that Harry would never make me talk about the things I confided in him unless I wanted to.</p>
<p>It had been three days since I told him about the homesickness, and he hadn’t brought it up. A month since I told him of my sister, and he hadn’t brought it up. Only two months into my stay, and already I trusted him more than I trusted anyone in my hometown. It terrified me, really, but I wasn’t about to change it.</p>
<p>A brisk wind swirled around us, and I burrowed further into Harry’s side. Now that the end of autumn was melting into winter, I had no hopes of the temperatures rising any time soon. I pouted even as I inhaled the scent of rain, laundry detergent, and the spiced aroma of deodorant. Harry glanced down at me, his green eyes glittering in the weak sunlight, and his lips curved into a soft smile.</p>
<p>He knew damn well that I was accustomed to low temperatures, considering I’d told him about the feet of snow we got every winter, and negative numbers on thermometers weren’t an unfamiliar sight from November to early-March. But I detested being cold. Even when Sophie was still around, I complained whenever I could. My mother used to joke that I was a child destined for the West Coast, my days full of high heat and surfing.</p>
<p>She didn’t joke much like that any more.</p>
<p>Harry and I parted at the entrance to the school, and I watched him join up with his group of friends. Something twisted painfully in my chest, my heart kicking up the pace when he looked back at me and grinned. Tucking my knit cap into my bag, I hurried through the corridors to where Liza stood with her friends.</p>
<p>When she caught sight of me, she shrieked quietly and bounced on the balls of her feet. I exchanged a look with Anthony before joining in, huffing out a laugh when her hands came up to smooth my hair against my scalp. Della let out a low whistle.</p>
<p>“You are so lucky you get to see him every day,” she muttered, and I blinked owlishly. She gestured with her chin down the hall. “Seriously. So lucky.”</p>
<p>I didn’t know how to respond to that - I could barely acknowledge the clammy-palmed, weak-kneed, heart-racing feeling that seemed to take over my senses any time I was around Harry. So I didn’t even try to say anything. I just forced an awkward smile and turned my attention to whatever the others were talking about. Della nudged me gently but thankfully let it drop.</p>
<p>It wasn’t until Anthony yelped suddenly, groaning about the homework we were supposed to have completed last night, that everyone in our little group fell silent. With a shared look of panic between them, the other three scrambled to pull out their papers and rushed to finish them. I merely watched them for a second then leaned against the wall behind me; I’d already completed mine, thanks to Harry.</p>
<p>Miss Letts stared down her nose at our group once we finally filed into the classroom. I resisted the urge to squirm under her scrutiny; I’d done nothing wrong. Therefore, I shouldn’t feel guilty. With a disdainful sniff, she waved shortly to the tabletop, and we hurried to drop our workbooks onto the surface and sped to our seats. I kept my head ducked down even after I sat. The teacher was strict with everyone, but I was sure she just didn’t like me.</p>
<p>Thankfully, the lesson passed by with very little interaction with the teacher. I stood with the rest of the students, made my way to the door, but then Miss Letts called my name over the shuffling of footsteps. Liza gave me a wide-eyed look but disappeared with nothing more than a whispered <i>I’m sorry</i>. I pulled my bag more securely on my back and turned on my heel.</p>
<p>“I’ve marked your essay from last week.”</p>
<p>“Okay?”</p>
<p>“Miss Schulz, I must admit it took me by surprise. Your words were eloquent, and you somehow managed to put emotion into an essay about the impact another person has had on your life.” She sighed, rifled through the papers on her desk. “It was a wonderful paper. I fear I may be out of line for this, but I would like your permission to submit it into a literary publication contest.”</p>
<p>“I... I don’t know what to say.”</p>
<p>“If you don’t want me to, I won’t.”</p>
<p>I blew out a breath, staring down at my feet. The decision was mine, she made that clear, but I wasn’t sure what the right decision would be. If I said no, she might lose this modicum of respect for me. But if I allowed her to submit it, then I risked the other students finding out about Sophie, and I would be right back where I was in West Point.</p>
<p>“I, uh, I don’t know. I enrolled in the program to get away from my hometown, where everybody knew what happened.”</p>
<p>“You’re free to change the names, even yours, on the submission.”</p>
<p>“I’ll consider it, I guess. When did you need an answer by?”</p>
<p>“By the end of next week, please.”</p>
<p>“Okay. Thanks, Miss Letts.”</p>
<p>I left the room in a daze. Being complimented on my writing was unexpected, but for that compliment to come from the one teacher I felt disliked me? That was stunning. Her words echoed in my mind even as I wound my way through the school to the front door.</p>
<p>Harry was still there, waiting for me as he always did. He looked up from the book in his hands and smiled, put the novel in his bag. I fell into step beside him, listened to him talking though I couldn’t focus on his words. I noticed, however, when he grew quiet.</p>
<p>“Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Hm?” I shook my head vehemently to clear Miss Letts’s voice from my ears. “Yeah, I’m fine. Um… Miss Letts wants to run something I wrote in a publication.”</p>
<p>“What? Star, that’s amazing!”</p>
<p>“I’ve not said yes,” I muttered, hunching in on myself, both from embarrassment and the chilly breeze that whipped around my face.</p>
<p>“You should do it.”</p>
<p>“I told her I’d think about it. It’s, it’s a big deal, and I don’t know if I’m ready for it.”</p>
<p>“Talk to Mum about it. She’s great at advice.”</p>
<p>As soon as we reached the house, I disappeared into my room. I hadn’t written a letter to my parents in a few days, the last one having been sent at the beginning of the week, so I didn’t have much new information for them. But distracting myself with the letters was preferable than thinking further about the essay and Miss Letts.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p>
    <i>Mom and Dad,</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>School is going fine. Still. My marks are still decent. Harry’s been a huge help in making sure I understand the subjects and do well on the work - he’s a nerd. Very “studious”, as you’d call it.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>It’s almost Halloween, and I have no idea what they even do for it here. I think I’ll probably just spend the evening reading like every other night. Don’t worry. It hasn’t affected the friendships I’ve made with Liza, Della, and Anthony. I think I’ve told you about them. Maybe. They’re awesome. Harry and his sister, Gemma, are great, too.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>I’ve felt really welcome since the beginning because of these people. I miss you guys so much, but they’re all really helping me not go insane from being so homesick constantly.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>I’m impatiently waiting for any news from around town that I should know about.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Love, Seren</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Anne turned away from the stove, smiling as I entered the kitchen. “There you are.”</p>
<p>“Hi. Anything I can help with?”</p>
<p>“Not quite yet, sweetheart. Dinner will be finished in about thirty minutes, so you can set the table then. How was school?”</p>
<p>“School was… fine, I guess.” I sat at the table; Harry’s words replayed in my mind, and I decided that maybe he was right. “Uh, one of my teachers wants to submit something I wrote to a literary publication.”</p>
<p>“That sounds wonderful! Congratulations, Seren.”</p>
<p>“Thanks. I, I don’t know if I want her to, though.”</p>
<p>At Anne’s gentle prodding, I relented, explaining that if people knew I wrote that essay, it would open the door for them to ask questions I didn’t want to answer. It would force me to relive something I wasn’t ready to talk about, and the attention I’d run from would be on me again. She frowned, set a lid on the pot of sauce, then came to sit next to me. Her hand brushed over my hair, and I let out a slow breath at the comforting touch.</p>
<p>“Seren, whatever you decide is <i>your</i> choice. No one can force you to let her submit it, and no one can force you to not let her. And if you’re uncomfortable with the idea of people knowing something about you that you’re not able to confront, then I say tell your teacher that you appreciate her support and encouragement, but you’re going to have to say no.”</p>
<p>“And if I say yes?”</p>
<p>“Then know that you have us on your side. We’ll do what we can to help you through this.”</p>
<p>My cheeks grew warm, and tears pricked at my eyes.  I ducked my head and struggled to keep my breathing steady; Anne patted my arm gently, hesitating for a second before she pressed a kiss to my temple. The moment she was back at the stove, I pushed to my feet and rushed down the hall to my room.</p>
<p>Thoughts warred with themselves in my mind, and I slipped between the blankets, curling up into a ball. I couldn’t make sense of what I was feeling. It was <i>nice</i>, really, for her to show me affection like that. But it also made me wonder what was so wrong with me - with my family - that my own parents couldn’t show me the same affection?</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. ☼►nine◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p><i>Fffthump, fffthump, fffthump</i>. Page after page, Anthony frowned down at the CD binder, and I rolled my eyes at the exaggerated pout on his face. Suddenly, he gasped and slipped a CD out of its sleeve, passing it over to Della. She set the disc in the stereo, and a soft crackling noise filled the room before <i>I’m a Slave 4 U</i> started playing.</p>
<p>Liza laughed. “Of course you’d choose this.”</p>
<p>“It’s Britney, bitch!”</p>
<p>I shook my head and went back to twisting Liza’s wet hair into thin braids. She’d wanted wavy hair the next day and figured going to sleep with dozens of plaits was easier than waking early to curl her hair. I hadn’t argued that it was only less work on her - I was roped into it under the argument that I was doing little else anyway.</p>
<p>As Britney Spears continued singing, I stared down at my hands, made sure the braids were even and no flyaway hairs lingered outside of their confines. Della cleared her throat from where she sat by the window; I looked up in time to see her blowing on her freshly-painted nails, staring at me with something in her eyes that I wasn’t sure I wanted to figure out.</p>
<p>“Think I have a chance with Harry?” she asked after a long minute, kicking at Anthony when he snorted derisively. “Shut up.”</p>
<p>Her eyes found mine again, and I shrugged helplessly. “I have no idea. We don’t really talk about stuff like that.”</p>
<p>Her brown eyes narrowed, and I swallowed thickly. All I could hope was that she couldn’t see the sudden storm inside my chest. Recognising what I felt was hard enough without anyone else knowing, and I’d done my best to ignore the weird twisting in my gut whenever I was with Harry. He was nothing more than a friend, my first in this new country. Thankfully, Della let the subject drop, and Anthony changed the topic to their plans for the weekend.</p>
<p>Mister Howard poked his head into the room ten minutes later, flashed us all a pleasant smile. “Liza, say goodbye. It’s time for dinner.”</p>
<p>She pouted but did as directed. Della was the first to sweep from the room, calling out a <i>See you</i> on her way down the stairs. Anthony waited for me to finish tying off the last braid, then we walked out together. Liza’s father followed us to the foyer, and I’d just stepped outside when the door closed behind me with a sharp snap. Anthony grimaced in sympathy.</p>
<p>“He doesn’t hate you, I promise.”</p>
<p>I wrapped my arms around my midsection, irrationally hurt by the fact that Mister Howard still hadn’t warmed up to me in the months I’d known his daughter. He was a nice enough man on the surface, but I had a feeling that he didn’t trust me, the American outsider. Sighing, I shook away the thoughts and focused on putting one foot in front of the other.</p>
<p>At the end of the pavement, I waved at my friends and turned left while they went right. Evening had fallen already, the stretch of navy-black overhead interrupted by the street-lamps that illuminated the way. I breathed in deeply, relished the smell of fresh air and rain on the cool breeze - the same scents I knew from home, just four thousand miles away.</p>
<p>I shivered slightly, humming quietly to distract myself from the darkness around, and counted my steps until I reached the house. It wasn’t a particularly long walk; the shadows and eerie quiet made it seem worse than it was. Hazy lamp-light seeped through gauzy curtains, barely displaced the inky black, on either side of the road, families preparing for bed with their evening shows or time spent together.</p>
<p>Something I hadn’t known in years before I arrived in Holmes Chapel.</p>
<p>Locking the door behind me, I toed off my boots and set them aside. My coat was next, joining the others on the hooks. It amazed me how much a piece of fabric could look like it didn’t belong. Anne looked up from the book she was reading when I stepped into the family room.</p>
<p>“Hey. Enjoy your visit?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, it was fun, I guess.”</p>
<p>“I’m glad to hear that. There’s a plate for you if you’re hungry.”</p>
<p>My throat tightened at the consideration. I’d grown accustomed to having to make my own dinners over the last few years. I was considered old enough, and my parents both had jobs that required hours that ended long past dinnertime. Sophie used to do the cooking, and I would clean up. It was our routine.</p>
<p>I nodded shakily and headed to the kitchen. The television played quietly in the background as I slowly ate. There was no taste to the food - not on Anne’s part; I was certain that the meal was actually delicious - but because everything inside of me was at such odds with the rest.</p>
<p>It was awkward to eat alone again, considering Anne made it a point of the four of us being at the table together for meals, but I couldn’t let myself think about how similar this moment was to being home again. I swallowed down a sob with the last bite of chicken then hurried to wash the dishes I’d used.</p>
<p>“Della is gonna ask you out,” I announced, flopping to lie down on Harry’s bed, and he cracked open one eye to stare at me. I almost felt bad for waking him, but I could hardly stand the thought of being alone.</p>
<p>“What?”</p>
<p>“She likes you. She’s gonna ask you out.”</p>
<p>“D’she tell you this?”</p>
<p>“Not in so many words, but ‘Think I have a chance with Harry’ is pretty obvious.” I shrugged and scratched at my eyebrow. “Figured I’d let you know so you aren’t blindsided.”</p>
<p>He let out a soft humming noise that was barely heard over the music playing quietly, his eyes falling closed again. I stayed where I was even as his breathing evened out, grew deeper, and my heart began racing. Would he tell her yes? Something in my stomach dropped, swooped wildly, and my skin prickled. Heat flared to life in my nerves. I swallowed past the lump in my throat and closed my eyes.</p>
<p>I just needed a moment, only one, to soak up as much of his presence while I could. I had no idea what the future held, but if I could have <i>this</i>, I’d take it.</p>
<p>My fears were unfounded.</p>
<p>Della caught me nearing the group after lunch two days later and said a quick goodbye before walking away. I could only assume that meant she had asked Harry and been rejected. Knowing him, I was sure he had let her down easy, but I imagined it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.</p>
<p>I knew if I’d gotten the courage to tell him my feelings only for him to inform me that he didn’t feel the same, I’d most likely avoid anyone with connections to him, too. I stared after Della as she disappeared into the crowds, making a mental note to avoid talking about him at all until she recovered from it.</p>
<p>
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</p>
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>[~:~]</p>
</div><p>“Are you busy?”</p>
<p>I yelped, dropping <i>Lullaby</i> to the carpet, when Harry’s voice suddenly sounded in the otherwise silent room. My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and my breath came in shallow gasps. Covering my face with my hands, I forced myself to inhale as steadily as possible until I was calmed down, then I looked over at him. He was staring at me, wide-eyed and startled just as much as I was. Eventually, I ducked down to scoop up the novel and settled back against the pillows.</p>
<p>“Er, sorry.”</p>
<p>I shook my head and fidgeted with the tattered cover of my book. I hadn’t been alone with him for the last couple of days. The night I had told him about Della’s plans, I’d woken up around midnight in his bed, the room dark and warmth along my side.</p>
<p>Everything in me had screamed to just stay there, to sleep the night away with him, but the logical part of my brain had convinced me to scurry away to my own bed. It wasn’t nearly as comfortable or peaceful as it had been in his.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” I asked in lieu of saying anything that could make things even more awkward.</p>
<p>“Er, Gemma wants to know if you’d like to help us build a fort, make loads of popcorn, and watch horror films all night.”</p>
<p>“A fort? What are we, eight?”</p>
<p>I stared down at the book, tracing a finger lightly over Palahniuk’s name printed on the cover; I’d been looking forward to rereading <i>Lullaby</i> since I even got on the plane to leave home, but spending time with Harry and Gemma was equally enticing. Heaving out a sigh, I set the book aside and smiled at Harry.</p>
<p>“Only if you don’t judge me too harshly for me getting scared.”</p>
<p>“I still haven’t judged you for crying over a fictional character, so…”</p>
<p>“You have a point. Jerk. Did you ever finish that book, by the way?”</p>
<p>“I’ll do it tomorrow. Now c’mon, before Gemma decides to eat all the popcorn.”</p>
<p>I rolled my eyes and pushed myself to my feet. His arm hooked around my neck as we made our way down the hall to the family room. My chest clenched with something identifiable, heat washing over my skin at the touch, and I tried to put a name to the feeling.</p>
<p>After a second, I gave up. It wasn’t worth it, not if it meant things would be weird between him and me. I chose, instead, to focus on the bright grin that Gemma sent our way when appeared in the archway.</p>
<p>The family room was an utter mess, to put it simply. Pillows and blankets were spread haphazardly around, and Gemma had more in her arms. She immediately began tossing them to us, telling us where to place them. Harry protested weakly, saying he didn’t need to be ordered around. Judging by his sister’s face, she didn’t believe him. We all knew it.</p>
<p>“Gem, we’ve done this enough that I’m quite certain I know how to build a pillow fort!”</p>
<p>“Only because I tell you what to do every time,” she responded breezily as she pinned the hem of a blanket up.</p>
<p>I bit back a smile as the pair squabbled with each other, but I didn’t interfere. I merely did what Gemma ordered me to do. It was nice, entertaining, to listen to them.</p>
<p>The amusement faded quickly, drowned out by the hurt that reminded me I hadn’t had these kind of sibling arguments in years. Swallowing hard, I stepped out of the way so Harry could lob a couple pillows into the fort we’d built.</p>
<p>Once we were situated inside with enormous bowls of popcorn and dozens of bags of various candies, Gemma announced the start to our horror film marathon. My warning to Harry came true within minutes of the first film starting: I kept having to hide my face in a pillow or Harry’s arm, squeaking whenever Michael Myers suddenly appeared to kill another victim. Harry, darling boy that he was, didn’t seem to mind, nor did he laugh at me. He continuously whispered that I was okay and told me whenever it was safe to look again.</p>
<p>Gemma had no such compunctions, her giggles interrupting the screaming on the television. It wasn’t unkind laughter, so I couldn’t be upset or feel wounded. Besides, I was too distracted by yet another senseless murder to pay much attention to her.</p>
<p>Squeezing my eyes closed, I shoved my face against Harry and whimpered. His hand was gentle, soft and reassuring, as it ran over my hair. It would have sent my heart racing if my heart wasn’t already pounding with fear from the violence on-screen.</p>
<p>Gemma dropped off first after three and a half films. Her hand rested limply in the nearly-empty popcorn bowl, head falling onto the pillow she’d been using to prop herself up. Harry reached across me to carefully move his sister’s hand, and my breath caught in my throat at how close he was.</p>
<p>The light from the television cast him into the perfect silhouette; I scarcely dared to breathe as he dragged the bowl closer to us and gave me a cheeky grin before focusing on the movie - yet another <i>Halloween</i> instalment. I let my attention wander as people dropped like flies. Unfortunately, it landed on the boy next to me.</p>
<p>Confiding in him the secret of Sophie had allowed us to get closer. Trusting him was easier than breathing - I trusted him more than I thought I would. He had yet to hesitate to comfort me or make me laugh. He listened when I needed to talk, and he would babble on about nothing if I couldn’t find my words. It was the best friendship I could have asked for.</p>
<p>And I wasn’t going to do anything to ruin it.</p>
<p>No matter how badly I wanted to kiss him, or how I went a little weak in the knees when he smiled so hard, his dimples showed. How my heart raced or my palms got clammy. How I couldn’t breathe without drowning in the scent of him…</p>
<p>I had to ignore it, all of it. It would be too awkward, I thought, considering we were living in the same house and I was going home at the end of the school-year. Leaving would hurt me enough as it was, so what was the point in making it harder on myself?</p>
<p>I sighed, crunched down on a piece of popcorn, and glanced at Harry only to find him asleep next to me. His face was lax, smoothed out as he slept, and he looked so at peace. Lashes fanned across his cheekbones, long and dark spider-legs that danced with each minute twitch of his eyelids.</p>
<p>I exhaled slowly, and something in my heart told me that going home would mean I’d be losing one of the greatest people to ever come into my life. And that loss was going to hurt.</p>
<p>Footsteps sounded in the hallway, loud now that the credit music had finished playing. I instantly laid down and closed my eyes, pretending to sleep.</p>
<p>“Oh, so precious,” Anne murmured at the opening of the fort, then there came the sound of a camera shutter, a bright flash.</p>
<p>While waiting for her to go back to bed, I fell asleep for real.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. ☼►ten◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p> </p>
</div><p>The sound of voices in the kitchen slowly registered in my mind, and I shifted to get more comfortable amid the sea of blankets. I wasn’t quite ready to wake up, to leave the fort and move from the warmth that enveloped me. No nightmares plagued my sleep, and I had an inkling as to why that was. Unfortunately, there was no hope of me falling back asleep - someone poked the tip of my nose, and I scrunched up my face.</p>
<p>“I know you’re awake,” Harry whispered, pressing his index finger against my nose again.</p>
<p>“So? I don’t wanna be.”</p>
<p>“C’mon, you can’t smell breakfast?”</p>
<p>“I don’t want breakfast.”</p>
<p>“Too bad,” muttered Gemma from behind me. “Mum will drag you from the fort kicking and screaming if you don’t go willingly.”</p>
<p>I pouted but conceded that maybe they were right. Pushing myself to sit up, I scrubbed my hand over my eyes and stifled a yawn. Something soft and fluffy hit me in the face; I spluttered for a moment before turning narrowed eyes on Harry. He flashed me a cheeky smirks then scrambled out of the fort, seconds before Anne’s voice came from the kitchen, calling us to breakfast.</p>
<p>Gemma rolled her eyes at her brother’s antics and followed after him, though much less crazed in her movements. I stayed behind, tossing pillows into a pile on the far side of the fort. The empty candy bags went into the popcorn bowls, ready for disposal, and I stacked them carefully on the coffee-table.</p>
<p>Laughter echoed from the other room, and I smiled to myself at the sound. Cheery mornings hadn’t been part of my routine in a long time, and it bloomed a warmth in my chest to hear it. It also served to remind me that I was still just an outsider, that it would never matter how long I was here.</p>
<p>I didn’t belong to this family, and they would never be mine.</p>
<p>The rest of the day went by in a blur. After I finally joined the others at the table and ate my fill, Gemma had invited me on a walk around the town. I took her up on it simply to be away from Harry. It was pleasant, to spend some time with her, considering we hadn’t had much of a chance since I arrived. We exchanged the occasional email, but that was all. She told me about her classes and asked how I was handling being so far from home.</p>
<p>“It’s… different,” I managed, and she laughed not unkindly. “I mean, I expected it to be, but things are better, even though it’s all so unfamiliar.”</p>
<p>“Well, we’re so glad to have you here. Mum is absolutely ecstatic to have a girl in the house while I’m gone.”</p>
<p>“She’s great. You and Harry are really lucky to have her as a mother.”</p>
<p>“What’s yours like?”</p>
<p>Gemma’s question brought me up short. What could I say about my mother that didn’t paint her in an awful light? It wasn’t her fault that she’d been devastated by Sophie’s disappearance.</p>
<p>However, I had to admit that she was to blame for the fact that she refused to move past it. Hell, we still lived in the same house in case my sister ever decided to come back. It was a long shot, a desperate hope, but I had no say in it. I did what my parents chose, and that was that.</p>
<p>Instead of admitting any of that, I just sighed. “She’s incredible.”</p>
<p>It wasn’t an outright lie - my mother <i>had</i> been incredible. She’d been an emergency operator since I was too young to remember much, but she never brought home the horrors. Our house was a bright spot whenever she was home; she taught us to play piano, paint and draw, how to bake. With all the activities she planned, our days were filled with ways to round out our personalities.</p>
<p>“She always said that she wanted us to see the beauty in life, because she heard the worst at work. She made holidays these huge, extravagant things. I don’t think there’s a time I went to bed without knowing she loves me.”</p>
<p>“She sounds amazing.” Gemma frowned and linked her arm with mine, forcing me to cross the street as a group of boys neared. “So, I have to ask, and you can tell me to bugger off if you want. But what’s going on with you and my brother?”</p>
<p>“<i>What</i>?”</p>
<p>She giggled and poked my arm with a finger. “That tells me all I want to know.”</p>
<p>“There’s nothing to tell, Gemma.” I blew out a breath, glancing back over my shoulder when someone shouted. “Are you kidding me?”</p>
<p>Gemma followed my gaze, and her face darkened. Her hold on me tightened, fingers digging into my arm. We stayed silent as we walked at the same pace we had been, but I knew she was just as affected by the situation as I was.</p>
<p>My heart pounded painfully in my chest, adrenalin coursing through my veins. Half of me wanted to run, run back to the house and get away as quickly as possible, but the other half of me knew to cede to Gemma’s guidance. As the older one, she had more experience. More wisdom.</p>
<p>She caught my eye as we rounded the corner, and that was it. Her hand wrapped around mine, then we were off, sprinting down the pavement. Cool air bit my cheeks, my eyes watering, but I couldn’t stop. I just followed Gemma through the streets even after I became desperately lost - I couldn’t recognise where we were after the second turn, but neither of us slowed until we were certain we were no longer being followed.</p>
<p>Gasping, I leaned against the wall of a nearby garden and clutched at a stitch in my side. Gemma was breathing just as hard as I was, and she repeatedly looked around to make sure we were alone. I managed to catch my breath after a minute, standing upright, and stared around.</p>
<p>We were in a part of town that I wasn’t familiar with. None of my walks with Harry had ever brought me this far. She blew out a breath then pulled her phone from her pocket.</p>
<p>“Damn,” she muttered as she checked the time. “Mum is going to be worried.”</p>
<p>“You, you know how to get back, right?”</p>
<p>She snorted, nodding, and I let her link our arms together. Gemma turned us in what I could only hope was the right direction. Off we went, but I kept an eye out for the boys who had attempted to follow us.</p>
<p>Thankfully, Anne didn’t question our dishevelled appearances or how long we’d been gone by the time Gemma and I returned to the house. She merely smiled and asked if we’d enjoyed our walk.</p>
<p>It took all my willpower not to look at Gemma as I lied, said it was peaceful, before I decided to head down the hall. It might have been a dumb idea, one that begged to be tortured more, but I needed something safe at that moment.</p>
<p>And no matter how jumbled up I felt around him, Harry was the one who made me feel safest.</p>
<p>I knocked on his bedroom door but didn’t give him any time to reply before I pushed it open. My words vanished in a vacuum at the sight in front of me. His eyes slowly closed as I stared.</p>
<p>In his hands were a pair of wooden knitting needles, next to him a ball of yarn the same shade of freshly-fallen snow. Whatever he was making was nearly a foot long; the ends were neat and tidy, evidence of the love and care that had gone into the work.</p>
<p>Leaning against the doorframe, I crossed my arms over my chest and smiled, though my heart had inexplicably begun racing again. “I didn’t peg you for the knitting type.”</p>
<p>“It’s relaxing,” he bit out, words sharp with defence, and I sighed.</p>
<p>“Wasn’t trying to make fun of you, sheesh. I’m just... surprised, is all.”</p>
<p>“Sorry.”</p>
<p>“So when did you learn to knit?”</p>
<p>“Can you please come in and close the door? I don’t want the whole house knowing what I’m doing.”</p>
<p>“Your parents don’t know you knit?” I questioned even as I did what he asked. “Seems like it’d be a hard secret to keep, since you live in the same house and all.”</p>
<p>“No, they know. Mum is the one who taught me. I’m just - okay, if I tell you, you have to swear not to say a word to anyone.”</p>
<p>“Of course. I <i>promise</i>, cross my heart and hope to die and all that,” I added when he raised a brow.</p>
<p>His gaze never wavered, not for a long moment, but then he exhaled. “This is Gemma’s Christmas present. She’s always complaining that she can’t feel her face whenever she goes outside, so... this is my solution.”</p>
<p>“Oh, Harry, that’s really sweet. I’m sure she’ll love it.”</p>
<p>“I hope so, or I’ll have wasted loads of time.”</p>
<p>“Can, can you teach me?”</p>
<p>My voice trembled, meek and nearly inaudible, and he glanced at me from the corner of his eye. Nodding, he set his knitting aside and crossed the room to rummage through a drawer in the bottom of his bureau.</p>
<p>When he sat back down, it was beside me, and he passed over another pair of needles and a small skein of yellow yarn. I grimaced at the colour; yellow reminded me too much of Sophie, the sunshine she stole from us.</p>
<p>“It’s just to learn on,” he said quietly,  his eyes soft. As if he knew what I was thinking.</p>
<p>Knitting turned out to be harder than it looked, and it looked plenty difficult to begin with. Harry was a patient teacher, though, not judging me whenever I messed up. He just gave advice and adjusted my grip on the needles. The mixture of emotions that usually plagued me faded the longer I sat there, though his warm fingers on mine made the rush come back.</p>
<p>I came dangerously close to bursting into tears when I finished two whole rows without dropping any stitches. The stitches might have been sloppy, uneven, but they were all there in a wonky line along the needle.</p>
<p>Disappointment reared its ugly head when I looked at Harry’s scarf, though I was quick to tamp it down. I’d done my best, and I had learnt a new skill. Besides, how could I let myself feel so horribly with Harry grinning brightly at me? My cheeks ached with my answering smile, but the warm blaze drowned out the discomfort.</p>
<p>“Wanna show you something.”</p>
<p>A soft clicking noise sounded as I set the needles down on his mattress, and I followed him across the room. He pulled open his cupboard with all the enthusiasm of a game-show host unveiling prizes, and his eyes never left my face.</p>
<p>My jaw dropped at the rows of bins there, stacked neatly and filled to the brim with skeins of yarn. Each bin was organised by colour, shades melting into the next. Turning away from the wall of rainbow in front of me, I gaped at Harry.</p>
<p>"Holy shit, H. There's so much!"</p>
<p>"Who are you making yours for?"</p>
<p>I looked back at the skeins, idly noting that none of the greens came close to the green of his eyes. "Uh, your - your mom."</p>
<p>"Then I say go with... this one." He slid a bin off its shelf, digging carefully through the various yarns until he emerged with one of the warmest pale blue I'd ever seen. "It's one of her favourite colours, and it's the softest one I've got."</p>
<p>I sat on the bed, ran my fingers over the yarn. Plush and soft, a cloud under my touch. I was almost envious that it was being used for Anne's scarf instead of something for myself. Once Harry picked up his needles again, I gathered up my own and got to work. The quiet between us was comfortable, the voice in the back of my mind no longer reminding me that I was still no closer to discerning what I felt for him.</p>
<p>All I knew was that no matter what, I loved this family. They'd welcomed me into the fold and treated me with such kindness. I would never deserve them. I would never be good enough, kind enough, selfless enough. Worthy enough. And I wasn't sure I could ever be selfish enough to try.</p>
<p>Yet here I was, knitting a scarf for the woman who had opened her arms and home to a strange kid from the United States. All because Anne was such a wonderful, generous woman. If she hadn't done so much to make me comfortable, I doubted I'd feel as welcome - or at home in a place I didn't really belong - as I did now. Undoubtedly, I'd still be struggling with missing my parents, my home.</p>
<p>Harry’s voice broke through my thoughts, warning me gently that my tension was fluctuating. I grumbled but relaxed my grip, and he huffed out a laugh next to me. My cheeks warmed as I nudged him with my shoulder; the contact sent something unidentifiable spiralling through me, and I chewed on my lower lip to focus on the pain instead of the feelings I’d developed for him.</p>
<p>Instead of the unsettling sensation that spread through me.</p>
<p>Instead of the way I knew it would hurt to leave this lovely family behind.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. ☼►eleven◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p> </p>
</div><p>Della sauntered up to the group early Wednesday morning, launching into conversation without reserve, laughing with Liza and Anthony as if the post-Harry awkwardness never happened. I didn’t bring up the fact that she’d avoided me for a week; I just joined in on the chatter and accepted that she was fine now. She had a boyfriend by the time we left school on Friday.</p><p>The weather grew even colder as days blended into the next. Winds were sharper, and the sun rose too late and set too soon. The warm half of autumn was officially over. Anne started driving Harry and me to school each morning, which was really the best choice unless she wanted popsicles as kids by the time we got home in the afternoons.</p><p>Miss Letts was pleased when I gave her permission to submit my essay - on the condition that I could change the names. She hadn’t pried into the reasons why; she merely handed back the paper and told me to bring an edited copy the following morning. I didn’t tell Anne, Robin, or even Harry about allowing the submission. I was too busy hoping I wouldn’t live to regret the decision.</p><p>Before I knew it, Thanksgiving was just around the corner. I’d come to accept that I wouldn’t have that traditional dinners, but it felt almost.. <i>wrong</i>. I’d been participating in the feasts with family and friends since before I could remember.</p><p>This year, though, I was in the UK where they didn’t celebrate the first sit-down meal with Native Americans before systematically slaughtering them through various means. So I didn’t bother wasting emotions on a tradition that I hardly enjoyed, anyway.</p><p>The twenty-sixth arrived with little fanfare. I made it through the day without thinking once of what my parents might be doing now that they were alone. Who would they be saying grace to, what would they be thankful for. After all, they’d said goodbye to one daughter who thought home wasn’t good enough, and their remaining child had run off to a different country for the year.</p><p>“What’s going on?” I asked as I tugged my boots off just inside the front door.</p><p>Anne’s eyes widened minutely but she didn’t move away. Evidently, she hadn’t anticipated me picking up on her eagerness about whatever had been planned. The surprise on her face melted away, though, and she grinned brightly, setting my bag to the side while I hung up my coat.</p><p>As soon as she could, her hands wrapped around my shoulders; she steered me toward the dining table, and I sought out Harry as I was being pushed. He merely shrugged in response - he hadn’t any more idea than I did what his mother was up to.</p><p>Stumbling to a stop in the doorway, I gasped at the sight before me. The table was set with the nicest dishware, a bottle of wine at the head. A roast ham sat dead-centre of the table, surrounded by a variety of other dishes - mashed potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce… everything necessary for a feast. I swallowed thickly, throat tightening, and blinked back tears.</p><p>“I know how upset you must be that you can’t be home with your family, so we thought we’d bring the holiday celebration to you.” Anne draped her arm over my shoulders, pulled me close into her side. “I’m sorry if this isn’t quite what you’re used to.”</p><p>“Anne, th-this is <i>amazing</i>.”</p><p>“Come, sit!”</p><p>Harry caught my eye as we sat, his eyes glittering as he matched my smile. A twinge of discomfort tore through me at the knowledge that Anne had gone through so much trouble for <i>me</i>, but that fact also sent a heady warmth to fill me. Her caring enough to give me something that I hadn’t had in a long time was nothing if not reassuring that maybe - just maybe - I wasn’t as much of an imposition as I thought.</p><p>I ate as much as I possibly could that night, until my stomach threatened to revolt if I continued. Thankfully, it seemed to be enough that Anne wasn’t upset when I stood from the table. She froze up when I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her as tightly as she’d embraced me over the months, but then she hugged me back with such sincerity that I ached.</p><p>As soon as dishes were washed and put away, I disappeared into my room with a glass of water. The scarf was coming along nicely - if a little wonky - but I still had so much more to do. The desperation to finish it was a palpable thing, something that hummed lowly in my blood each second I wasn’t working on it. I didn’t want to not have something for her for Christmas.</p><p>Not after she’d done so much for me.</p><p>My fingers itched as I worked the yarn over, under, on and off the needle; the wool was soft, but it had started fraying with the manipulation. Scrubbing my hands on my thighs, I blew out a breath and reached for my drink on the nightstand. I’d just picked up the needles again when a knock sounded at the door.</p><p>“Yeah?” I called out once my knitting was tucked under the pillow.</p><p>Anne poked her head into the room, smiling softly. “Mind if I come in?”</p><p>“Oh. Of course.”</p><p>“I just wanted to check in on you.” She sat on the edge of the bed, patted my knee. “You’ve been here for three months now, and I just… I wanted to make sure you’re happy and if there’s anything we can do to make things better.”</p><p>“Believe me, I’m happier than I thought I would be. And you, you made things even better tonight. I didn’t expect dinner.”</p><p>Her smile split her face, blue eyes sparkling in the lamplight. “I was hoping to surprise you with that. You’ll let us know, though, if you need anything?”</p><p>“Absolutely.”</p><p>I didn’t tell her that she’d become much more maternal than I felt with my own mother at home. Anne was much more present, loving and caring and present. And how could I put into words that I thought she was a better mother than mine? I couldn’t. The guilt at even thinking the words was bad enough. Actually speaking them aloud would destroy me.</p><p>Anne hesitated then pressed a kiss to my forehead, the softest brush that brought tears to my eyes. She left with a quiet <i>Goodnight</i>, and I stared down at my hands in my lap. My stomach churned as I sat there, cross-legged and hunched in on myself. Why would I think something so awful?</p><p>Yes, Anne had already shown me an unconditional sort of love that I hadn’t felt in a while. Everything involving my parents was still unstable. I was consumed with the thought that I had to walk on eggshells around them, do everything I could to not dredge up memories of Sophie or her selfishness and our loss. Their love for me hardly seemed as strong as it did a few years ago.</p><p>But they didn’t deserve me thinking such terrible thoughts about them. I should have been more understanding. They’d lost their first baby, but the loss was worse because they knew - just like I knew - that Sophie was still alive. She was just choosing to not come back home to us.</p><p>Swallowing thickly, I brushed away the tears that had begun slipping down my cheek. All I could do was resolve to be a better daughter than my sister. While I was here in Holmes Chapel, though… I could pretend, just for a little while, that this family was my own, even if it would break my heart to walk away.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. ☼►twelve◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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  <p> </p>
</div><p>
  <i>I stared in the mirror, at the reflection that stared back. Dark hair, dark eyes, but not my face. The pink-painted lips shined in the light from overhead, twisting into a smile that wasn’t my own. Wrenching my gaze away, I took in the sight of my pyjamas, printed with cartoon dinosaurs, and my lilac toenails.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>Everything was the same - except for the girl in the mirror. She was taller, older, more slender. Her face was less soft, and her eyes weren’t as wide as mine. They gleamed with a happiness I rarely felt any more.  I raised my hand, pressing it to the cool glass, and she did the same.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Why?” I whispered, and Sophie shrugged.</i>
</p>
<p>
  <i>“Because I wanted to.”</i>
</p>
<p><i>Her image warped and blurred at the edges, twisting from what I knew to something nebulous. Hideous. The brown turned to black, her skin slowly faded until the wall behind me was visible through her. Red seeped from her nose, dripped down her lips, stained them bloody. Her fingers drummed a painful rhythm against the glass, louder and louder, harder and harder until - </i>slap!<i> - her palm slammed into the mirror.</i></p>
<p>
  <i>The thundering crack sent lightning crashes of sound to fill the room, and I clapped my hands over my ears to block out the noise. It was in me, however, in every bit of my being, and it reverberated in my bones. Sophie disappeared from view, though her cackling lingered, echoing in the space where she once was. I collapsed to the floor, scooted backwards until my back was against the wall, and screamed as loud as I possibly could to cover the cold sound of laughter - a laugh I’d never heard from her before.</i>
</p>
<p>My heart pounded beneath my ribs, and I struggled to catch my breath. Whispering that it was only a dream, I shifted until I was able to lean against the headboard, swallowing in gulps of air. My sweat-soaked skin crawled with goosebumps, though the room was warm and the blanket still rested over me. My hands trembled as I wiped the tears away and stared around at my surroundings.</p>
<p>Moonlight filtered through the curtains, weak and hazy but enough to fill the room with some illumination. Soft strains of music played from down the hall, and I focused on the notes I could hear instead of the nightmare that was replaying in my mind. I hardly ever remembered my dreams, but I knew I would never forget that one.</p>
<p>Eventually, the silence and isolation grew to be too much to bear. So I pushed back the comforter and scurried across the room. The music was louder when I came to a stop outside of Harry’s bedroom. Once I made sure Anne and Robin’s door was still closed, I knocked on the door in front of me - a quick drum of my fingertips followed by a rap with my knuckles.</p>
<p>Stevie Nicks’s voice softened, then Harry stood in front of me. His brows furrowed as he scrutinised me, but he stepped back to let me in. Stepping carefully around the clutter on his floor, I made my way on unsteady legs to his bed, dropping gracelessly to sit on the edge of the mattress. He didn’t hesitate to sit beside me, wrap his arms around me.</p>
<p>“What happened, Star?”</p>
<p>“Bad dream,” I whispered. “Can I stay for a while?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, of course.”</p>
<p>It felt… right, to be lying next to him. To feel the warmth of his arm pressed against mine. To not be alone with nothing more than my thoughts to keep me company. I closed my eyes and breathed in deeply. The rapid beat of my heart slowed the longer I laid there, and I felt like I could breathe again.</p>
<p>“Do you wanna talk about it?”</p>
<p>“Not really. I just, I wanna lay here for a while.”</p>
<p>“Okay.”</p>
<p>I rolled over to face him, resting my forehead against his arm. “Hey, Curly Sue? Do you think we’ll still be friends after I leave?”</p>
<p>“Definitely. Just because you’re in another country doesn’t mean our friendship has to end.” He exhaled slowly. “We could write letters or emails to each other. We could IM. There’s loads we can do to keep in touch.”</p>
<p>“Good. I’m glad.”</p>
<p>“Did you think I’d say no?” he asked quietly after a moment.</p>
<p>“Yeah. I mean, we’re not, y’know - I dunno. Like, we have no other connection besides your family is hosting me as an exchange student. I didn’t know if, if you’d still care.”</p>
<p>His finger was warm, gentle, as he nudged at my chin until our eyes met. “Star, I let you call me a girl’s name. I think that’s proof that I care. You going back home has no effect on that.”</p>
<p>I smiled as best I could; his words were a reassurance that I didn’t think was possible. Without hesitation, I shifted closer, closing my eyes as I settled more comfortably next to him. The hug he gave me was awkward, but heat flooded through me anyway.</p>
<p>I knew then, with no doubts, that I was too far gone for this boy. And I liked it, even with all the discomfort it brought to know that he’d never feel for me what I felt for him.</p>
<p>Apologising quietly, he rolled over to face the window, and his hand reached for mine, tugging it over his waist. “You’re a jetpack,” he murmured with a soft giggle.</p>
<p>We didn’t speak any more. All that was between us was the sound Fleetwood Mac mixing with our breathing, and I let the silent comfort he offered bring me the peace I ached for. Letting out a measured breath, I bit my lip and wondered if it would ruin everything if I spoke the words on my tongue.</p>
<p>“Harry?” At his sleepy hum, I swallowed hard and, with my voice thick and shaky, admitted on a whisper, “I think I hate her.”</p>
<p>His grip on my hand tightened, squeezed comfortingly, and he held on tightly as I fell apart. I cried the tears I’d refused to shed for so long, let myself feel everything I fought so hard to remain numb against. All of the things I kept to myself burst out of me.</p>
<p>I was safe now, there was no need to hide away any longer. Harry didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. Him being there, his fingers laced with mine, his body solid and real in front of me…</p>
<p>That was enough.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. ☼►thirteen◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="center">
  <p> </p>
</div><p>Before I knew it, there were only twelve days until Christmas. The weather had become even colder and wetter, and I was in a constant state of uncomfortable. I was accustomed to freezing temperatures, but for some reason, the chill here permeated much more fiercely than back home. Maybe it was because it was another Christmas without Sophie, and now I had to deal with not being with my parents on top of it.</p>
<p>The holidays were the only times they came together to pretend we were still happy. It was hard, and I knew it was all a facade. But they still tried. They had pretences to put on - letting those cracks show in front of the family who came to visit was an unacceptable thing. So Sophie’s memory stayed tucked away for at least one day. Her name wasn’t spoken, everyone avoided looking at her photographs on the wall, and we pretended.</p>
<p>“May I come in?”</p>
<p>I looked up from my latest novel, smiling at Robin. “Sure. What’s up?”</p>
<p>“Well, Anne wants - <i>we</i> would like for you to come help decorate the tree.”</p>
<p>I stared, blindsided by the request. Harry had warned me it would most likely happen, but I hadn’t expected it to actually come true. I helped put ornaments and lights on the tree at home, so it wasn’t an absurd request on Anne’s part.</p>
<p>The oddest part was that a large part of me wanted to do it. I wanted to be a part of their holiday traditions. I wanted to be a part of their family even if it was just pretend. I was good at that. Pretending.</p>
<p>Swallowing down the guilt, I set aside <i>Tuck Everlasting</i>, making sure the bookmark is firmly between the pages before letting the book close. Robin’s hand was gentle on my shoulder as we made our way to the family room. Anne turned away from the box in front of her, grinned brightly when she saw me, and waved me closer.</p>
<p>I watched for a minute to see if there was any rhyme or reason to the placement of the baubles, but there really wasn’t any. Gemma and Harry argued over certain spots in the branches, though that was more of a competition amongst themselves and less following rules. I ducked down to grab a large, shiny green orb and carefully slipped the ribbon over a branch.</p>
<p>Anne murmured my name from right behind me, her voice quiet yet so loud in the sudden silence. I caught Harry’s eye over his mother’s shoulder, but all he did in response was smile and jerk his chin toward his mother. Frowning, I faced Anne only to end up blinking owlishly at the box she was holding out to me.</p>
<p>“What is this?”</p>
<p>“Open it, darling.”</p>
<p>With everyone’s eyes on me and my hands shaking, I chewed on my lower lip and lifted the lid to the box. My breath stuttered out of me at the sight of a glittering star nestled in swathes of deep-purple velveteen. Tears pricked at my eyes as I stared down at the ornament.</p>
<p>“I - I don’t know what to say.” I dragged my gaze from the box to Anne’s face. “What’s this?”</p>
<p>She smiled, sniffling, though nothing could hide the fact that her own eyes were filling with tears. “This is our way of saying welcome to the family, Seren. We each have our own ornament, and now you have one, too.”</p>
<p>She took the star from me, turning to hang it on the tree between the green bauble and a glittery blue one. I covered my face with my hands, and the tears spilled over. Arms wrapped around my shoulders, held me tightly; I turned and pressed my face into the front of Robin’s shirt, but I couldn’t stop crying.</p>
<p>It was so ridiculous, to be crying over something as small as my own decoration on the tree. I knew it. But there was no way to stem the tears. It meant the world that this family cared enough to do something like this for me. I felt… included. Loved.</p>
<p>When I finally calmed down, Robin ran his hand over my hair and smiled down at me, a knowing gleam in his eye. I scrubbed a hand over my face, drew in a steadying breath. He moved away to help Anne wind tinsel around the tree; as I watched them move in a choreographed dance, something smoothed out in my chest, something that had been sharp with fear and doubts. I exhaled slowly and turned away from the tree.</p>
<p>It might have been a horrid idea to believe that these people truly cared about me, but the star… everything they’d done for me since I arrived a few months ago… it was hard to think otherwise.</p>
<p>I didn’t want to think otherwise.</p>

<p></p><div class="center">
  <p>
    <b>[~:~]</b>
  </p>
</div><p>There was no warning before my bedroom door burst open, Harry stumbling into the room and slamming the door shut behind him. I glared even as I set my knitting aside, though I desperately needed to finish it. There were only fifty more rows to go before it was complete, and Christmas was just two days away.</p>
<p>Instead of saying anything, he held up his own project with a proud grin; bright spots of red flooded his cheeks beneath sparkling green eyes, and he ran his free hand through his curls, mussing them further. I tore my gaze from his face, though it was harder than it had any right to be, and to the scarf in his hand.</p>
<p>Biting back a squeal, I reached out for the knitting. The yarn was as pure white as it had been when I first saw it, row after row of tidy stitching. It was absolutely perfect. Gemma was going to love it, and rightfully so. Harry plopped down on the bed beside me, gathering up the scarf I was making, and examined it closely.</p>
<p>My delight at Harry’s success faded into humiliation. The gift for his mother was awful in comparison, lumpy and uneven. Not even on the same level of his present for his sister. My stomach churned as I waited for the criticism - or worse, <i>pity</i>.</p>
<p>To my surprise, he grinned up at me. “This is great, Star! Mum is going to love it so much.”</p>
<p>“It’s terrible,” I moaned, dropping my forehead to rest on his shoulder. “I can’t give it to her.”</p>
<p>“Wanna know something?” he murmured before continuing, “The very first thing I ever made was so awful, I literally set it on fire in the garden. I’m not joking!” He swatted at me when I burst into startled laughter. “It was… it was dreadful, and I couldn’t let it see the light of day. This? This is so much better than my first attempt.”</p>
<p>“Well, I had a great teacher,” I whispered once the tightness in my throat eased just enough.</p>
<p>“She really will love it, don’t worry.”</p>
<p>Harry kept me company while I started working on the scarf again. I listened with half an ear as he talked about random things, read excerpts from the novels I’d brought with me, or just sang whatever snippet of a song happened to pop into his brain. My mind drifted, reality going out of focus, as I worked. The camaraderie, the peaceful rhythm of his voice, lulled me into complacency. Calmness in the face of a holiday away from home, my family, and everything I’d ever known.</p>
<p>I didn’t realise when the room fell silent, or when Harry stretched out to lie next to me, but I certainly noticed that he’d fallen asleep. And it was no wonder. The clock read almost half-one in the morning, and we both were up incredibly early this morning.</p>
<p>I gingerly rolled the scarf around my needles, placed it in the nightstand drawer, and padded as quietly across the room as I could. Waking him didn’t seem like a good idea, so I turned off the light and laid down next to him. A small voice in my head whispered that I was practically begging to be hurt by this boy, but I didn’t care.</p>
<p>How could I, when he’d given me so much more than he could ever know?</p>
<p>The next day was spent holed up in Anne’s room, helping her wrap the gifts for Harry, Gemma, and Robin. She kept mine hidden away, scolded me when I tried to peek, but her voice was full of laughter, eyes full of a light that I’d seen in her son’s. As soon as I finished taping down the paper on the last gift for her daughter, she shooed me from the bedroom, and I headed off to find something to do besides read.</p>
<p>Harry wasn’t home; he’d gone to visit a friend for a while, and Gemma was with a girlfriend doing some last-minute shopping. Robin was preoccupied with getting everything ready for Christmas dinner. I didn’t want to be in the way, so I told him I was going for a walk. He frowned as he turned away from refrigerator.</p>
<p>“Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, I just wanna get some fresh air, that’s all.” When his concerned expression didn’t fade, I forced a smile. “If I stay inside, I’m going to try to find my presents, and I think Anne might get upset at that.”</p>
<p>His face split with his smile, and his laughter followed me to the front door. I slipped on my boots and coat, called out that I would be back in about an hour, and stepped outside. Snow glistened under the weak sunlight, icicles catching the light and sending sparkles across my vision, and children shouted as they stomped around in the winter wonderland.</p>
<p>Somehow, the snow and cold here didn’t make me as miserable as the snow and cold back home. I couldn’t quite figure it out, but I had a feeling that it was because of the company I had. The family I’d come to love as my own were so warm, kind and loving, giving and compassionate. It was impossible to be upset around them.</p>
<p>As I walked around the town, my mind travelled from my family to school. Miss Letts had told me on the final day before break that my essay was approved for submission and it would appear in the first print of the new year. I’d been terrified of it being rejected, but the fact that it was being printed was inexplicably more frightening. If it was rejected, well, that just meant I wasn’t a good enough writer.</p>
<p>It being printed for everyone to read meant that I had the ability. It also meant that if anyone found out it was me who wrote it, they would ask questions. The pain of losing Sophie had slowly begun to abate, and even my anger at her running away was disappearing, too. I supposed I could understand her reasoning, even if I thought it was selfish of her.</p>
<p>I had done pretty much the same thing: Someone offered me a chance to get away, and I took it without looking back. The difference was, really, I would be going home again. I had a return date. Sophie never gave us one. So we were stuck without any answers - any closure - while she got to live whatever life she decided to lead.</p>
<p>I decided to head back to the house when I lost all feeling in my cheeks, my eyes watering from the nip in the air and my nose simultaneously frozen and dripping. The choice was proved to be a smart one when an errant snowball hit me directly in the face. I wiped snow from my eyes and turned to face the child who threw it. She stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, for a second then bolted away without a word.</p>
<p>It was Hell, biding my time until Robin and Anne went to bed, but I managed it. As soon as their door shut behind them, I dug out the scarf and set off to finish the last twenty-five rows. It was slow going, considering every tiny sound I heard had me freezing up and waiting to be caught out. My heart raced, pounded out an uneven rhythm, as I rushed through the final leg of the project.</p>
<p>“Finally!” I cheered quietly as I tied off the last row.</p>
<p>It wasn’t a pretty thing, but it was the best I could have done. Stuffing it under my pillow, I dropped my needles and yarn onto the nightstand then tiptoed through the dark house. The box was still in the den; Anne had promised to leave it out in case anyone had wrapping left to do. Silently sending a thanks to the woman for having forethought like that, I stepped into the room only to stop and stare at the tree.</p>
<p>The fairy lights were lit up, spreading dots of golden-white light throughout the family room, and the tinsel draped in graceful arcs as if to highlight all the decorations - the baubles, the popsicle-stick reindeer and plastic mistletoe, tiny handprints embedded in ceramic. And the star.</p>
<p><i>My</i> star.</p>
<p>My star that dangled from a branch on a wire so thin, it was nearly invisible from a distance. The delicate blown-glass ornament reflected the lights in a dizzying array of sparkling, and I blinked back tears at the memory of what it stood for - that I belonged in this family. I was as much a part of it as Harry and Gemma, Robin and Anne.</p>
<p>Before I could stand there much longer and get caught, I rushed across the room to the stash of supplies over in the corner. My breathing sounded extraordinarily loud in my ears as I grabbed a roll of gift wrap, tape, and a small garment box. The floorboards creaked just as I’d turned back to the doorway, and I froze in place until I recognised the person who’d encroached on my nighttime thievery.</p>
<p>Gemma grinned and shrugged unabashedly, gesturing toward the gifts under the tree. “I always try to figure out what I’ve gotten.”</p>
<p>“I won’t tell,” I whispered and left her there by the tree, the strands of lights illuminating her face in a hazy glow, softening her features, as she read the nametags on each present.</p>
<p>Wrapping the gifts took very little time, though that was mostly due to the fact I didn’t quite care what they looked like in the end. The high of finishing the knitting made it easier to ignore how utterly awful the wrapping was. And besides, what mattered was on the inside. I just hoped everyone else felt the same way.</p>
<p>I set the presents on the bureau and turned off the light before crawling into bed. A wave of exhaustion abruptly crashed over me, blurring my vision and weighing down my bones. I could barely see straight, so I closed my eyes and settled more comfortably between the sheets. One heavy exhale later, and I was asleep.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. ☼►fourteen◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
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  <p> </p>
</div><p>It felt like only twenty minutes later that I was being rudely jerked awake, jostled by someone jumping on the bed. Groaning, I slapped a hand toward where I thought the person was, but Harry’s laughter told me I missed my mark by a mile. Seeing I wouldn’t get back to sleep for the bouncing, I shoved myself to a sitting position and yawned until my jaw cracked.</p><p>Harry finally collapsed to sit on the bed like a normal human being instead of a hyperactive child given too much sugar at four in the morning. I grumbled as I scrubbed a hand over my eyes, glaring at him once my hand fell back to my lap. His hair stuck up in all directions in a curly mass, and lines from his pillow crisscrossed his face. He looked a mess, honestly.</p><p>But his enthusiasm and excitement for the day was infectious: I found my irritation fading the longer I watched him grinning, no matter how early or rude the wake-up call was. He bounced in his spot and slapped lightly at my leg.</p><p>“Happy Christmas, Seren! Now come on, it’s time for presents!”</p><p>“Are your parents even awake right now?” I whined, falling backwards onto my pillows.</p><p>“Yes, he woke us first,” Anne replied as she passed by the door, and I huffed out a laugh and climbed to my feet.</p><p>Harry bounded down the hall, shouting <i>Happy Christmas!</i> on the way, and I could only shake my head again at his behaviour. He was acting as if this was his first holiday after being told about it for years. I truly marvelled at his giddiness concerning Christmas. I hadn’t felt like this in a very long time, so it was wonderful to witness at least one person so uninhibited.</p><p>I grabbed the wrapped gifts off the dresser and followed him to the family room, though I moved much more sedately. The thought of hours together with the family was incredibly enticing. Even with my dislike of the holiday, I’d come to love these people - even Robin, who though kind and funny, I wasn’t as close to as I was with Anne or Gemma or Harry. But I certainly wasn’t going to make a fool of myself.</p><p>Evidently, they’d all been waiting for me to arrive, because as soon as I sat on the sofa between the siblings, Robin began passing out the gifts from under the tree. My eyes stung with tears when I was handed one, but no one spoke of it, thankfully. My pulse pounded in my ears as I watched Harry tear into the paper on his present with abandon, dropping the scraps to the floor. Anne caught my eyes, grinning, and gestured toward the box in my hand.</p><p>I swallowed the surge of emotion, my fingertip tracing the <i>Seren</i> on the tag before I slipped a nail under the edge of the paper. The wrapping paper peeled back to reveal a hardcover book, one with a plain black cover that gave nothing away of what it was meant to be. Flipping it open to the first page, I gasped softly. Loopy handwriting, blue ink against a pale greyscale galaxy, promised that I would always have a place with the family, no matter what. Anne’s kind words of how much she cared for and loved me caused my tears to break the dam.</p><p>I sniffled and wiped my palm across my cheek before looking up at Anne. She nodded, obviously reading my expression correctly. My smile was tremulous, even I knew that, but neither of us cared. I reached down to pick up the garment box, passed it to Harry, and then handed out the rest of the gifts for the others.</p><p>Gemma barely waited for me to pull my had back before she was ripping the paper off the package in one quick go. She squealed delightedly at the pair of earrings I’d gotten for her, turning to hug me tightly, but my attention was firmly on Anne. She stared down at the scarf I’d made without speaking. Her hands trembled as she tenderly lifted the scarf from its box.</p><p>“It’s lovely, thank you so much.”</p><p>My cheeks burned when she wrapped the scarf around her throat, and I wrenched my gaze away before I could cry any more. Before I could do anything, she was on her feet and pressing a kiss to my hair. I chewed on my bottom lip and focused on watching Harry.</p><p>He grinned and raised the novel in his hand. He still hadn’t finished <i>The Outsiders</i>, so I’d managed to find and purchase for him a copy of his own - I wanted mine back. Now he could read and love the novel as much as I did. When he reached for the second present I got for him, a spark of guilt flickered through me.</p><p>I had only gotten the others one present apiece, but the yarn had caught my eye from the shop window. I wasn’t able to walk away, my mind too preoccupied with how the rich forest-green, the thin golden ribbon weaved throughout, reminded me of him. When I’d gone inside to examine it closer, the softness solidified the skein as the right choice. Now, I could only hope he wouldn’t ask how much it cost me.</p><p>Eventually, all the presents were opened, and wrapping paper littered the floor. I took a moment to flip through the picture album that I received; Robin and Anne had already begun to fill it with photographs, including the one she’d taken of us teenagers when we’d fallen asleep together on Halloween. There was even one of Harry and I washing dishes, a snapshot I hadn’t realised was being taken.</p><p>Seeing all the moments I’d shared with the family over the last few months filled me with a sense of peace, the kind that one could only get from belonging somewhere. A voice in my brain whispered that I’d be leaving at the end and therefore didn’t belong there, not really, but I ignored it. The contentedness I felt was enough for now.</p><p>As Anne and Robin cleaned up the paper, I disappeared into my bedroom to put away the presents. Gemma had gotten me a few shirts and a pack of socks - mismatched and a variety of patterns, I had giggled as soon as they were revealed under the snowflake-printed paper. The tops were adorable yet comfortable, the type I would wear on a regular basis.</p><p>Folding the shirts and putting them in the drawer took only a few minutes, and soon enough, I was finished. I tucked the journal under my pillow and set the photo album on the nightstand. I had a feeling I would be looking through it before bed quite often. A moment of hesitation, then I tore a strip of paper from my notebook and tucked it between the pages, marking the photograph from the fort.</p><p>“Want to go for a walk?” Harry whispered as we carried the breakfast dishes into the kitchen forty-five minutes later, and I glanced at him before setting the small stack of plates on the counter. Something on his face told me this was important.</p><p>That I shouldn’t say no.</p><p>So I didn’t.</p><p>“Sure. Meet you at the door in a few?”</p><p>His bright grin gave away his nervousness, but I didn’t speak of it. Instead, I asked Anne if I could help with anything. She grinned, shook her head, and pushed me gently out of the kitchen. I took it as a sign that she’d heard her son and was giving me permission to not do chores. A Christmas miracle if ever there was one.</p><p>I kissed her cheek, thanking her quietly, then hurried to my room to change out of my pyjamas. It shouldn’t have been that difficult to choose what to wear - they had all seen me in everything from sleep-pants and a T-shirt to my school uniform to shorts. But it was. It was near impossible.</p><p>I deliberated over my options for a full five minutes before grabbing a pair of dark jeans and the warmest knit sweater I had brought with me. After pulling on a pair of my new socks, one white with bright purple stars and the other black with neon-pink lightning bolts, I made my way to the front door.</p><p>Harry was already there, waiting for me. He stood there while I tugged on my boots and coats, then we stepped outside. My breath was stolen from my lungs by the sharpness of the cold air, and I huddled deeper into my coat, yanking the collar up around my face. Our exhales lingered in the air, puffs of clouds that preceded our steps.</p><p>Harry kept his face to the ground, but I could still see the pinkness to his cheeks and nose. Green eyes glittered over pale flesh as he caught my eye, and I nudged him with my shoulder, smiling to myself when he rolled his eyes. No one was outside as we walked in silence. Not yet. That would come once the festivities of the holiday were over, once gifts were unwrapped and meals were consumed.</p><p>“Is everything okay?” I finally asked after a few minutes of hearing nothing but snow crunching beneath our feet.</p><p>Without a word, Harry guided me toward a bench outside of a shop. The sign in the window said <i>Closed for the holidays</i> above a smiling Christmas tree. He reached into his pocket as we sat, pulling out a small box. It wasn’t wrapped in paper, just a plain silver box with a golden ribbon tied around it. The ends of the ribbon rested on the top in a mass of curls; a tag attached read “To: Star From: Q”. Warmth burst into life in my chest at the nicknames.</p><p>I carefully untied the ribbon, slipped it into my pocket, and lifted the lid to the box. Nestled in the tissue paper was a thin silver chain that glinted in the sunlight. Harry reached out to lift the edge of the paper, exposing a star-shaped pendant, and my throat tightened. The air grew thin in my lungs as I stared at the charm. A star.</p><p>For me.</p><p>When I made no move to pick up the jewellery, he did it for me. Goosebumps prickled at my skin when he pushed up the sleeve of my coat, his fingers brushing my skin as he clasped the bracelet around my left wrist. I shivered, though something told me it wasn’t just the low temperatures and his icy fingers that were affecting me.</p><p>The thought he put into my present was astounding. The world went fuzzy around the edges, eyes flooding with warmth before spilling over. When I looked at him, his face was flushed - from the cold or embarrassment, I wasn’t sure. He scrubbed a hand over the back of his neck, fidgeted with his knit cap, and I leaned over to wrap my arms around his neck.</p><p>“Thank you so much,” I whispered in his ear, hoping my voice could relay just how sincere my words were.</p><p>He grinned, crooked and relieved, and so Harry that my chest physically ached. My lips tingled with the urge to press against his cheek, his lips, but I resisted. He pushed against me with his shoulder as my finger came up to trace the star.</p><p>Anne didn’t even let us get completely through the door before she was converging on us, thick blankets in hand. Neither Harry nor I argued, just removed our coats and boots, and she looked pleased as we let her wrap us securely in the blankets and usher us to the family room. I dropped onto one end of the couch, which left Harry to settle between his sister and me.</p><p>His mother returned after a few minutes with two mugs; steam spiralled from the tops, and the rich scent of chocolate filled my nose. Heat leached from the porcelain into my palms as I cradled my mug close to my chest. I snorted, amused beyond words, when Harry took a sip of his drink only to hiss in pain and pull back with whipped cream on the tip of his nose.</p><p>He glared at me in mock outrage before scooping some cream onto is finger, dragging it across my cheek. My cheeks ached with my smile, and Robin chuckled from the armchair. Before I could retaliate, he unfortunately put a stop to our antics before they could grow worse. I pouted and stuck my tongue out at Harry, wiping the whipped cream from my face. He rolled his eyes but let me lean against him as I settled into watch the movie that was playing.</p><p>The rest of the day passed in much the same fashion. We only moved from our spots for an early dinner and returned to them quickly once our bellies were full. My attention wandered in the middle of the third film - some feel-good, holiday drivel - and I found myself looking around at these wonderful people, a family who had given me somewhere to stay.</p><p>A place to call a second home.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. ☼►fifteen◄☼</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
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</div><p>The new year arrived too quickly, and though I participated in waving sparklers around, a heavy ball of dread took up residence in my gut. I tried my best to avoid it, but the internal countdown clicked away the seconds in the back of my mind, louder than my thoughts. The digits ticked down until the day I was supposed to leave.</p>
<p>In a little over seven months, I would be on a flight back to Indiana.</p>
<p>School started back up, leaving me to field questions from my friends about the new bracelet that circled my wrist. Even Della looked impressed at the consideration and thought went into the gift, how simple yet beautiful it was, and not the least bit jealous. That might have had more to do with the new boyfriend hanging on her arm and less to do with her maturity.</p>
<p>Liza smeared cherry-scented Chapstick over her lips then passed it to me. I barely listened as she chatted about boys with Della, but the way she nudged me out of nowhere made it impossible for me to stay in my own thoughts. She frowned when I capped the lip balm, handing it back, then rolled her eyes without malice at my apology.</p>
<p>“I asked if you were planning on asking anybody to the formal,” she repeated, and I froze for a split second.</p>
<p>“Oh. Uh, probably not. Might not even go, to be honest.”</p>
<p>“What? Why not?”</p>
<p>I shrugged and fidgeted with the hem of my jumper, stomach churning under their scrutiny. “Dances just… aren’t my thing, I guess.”</p>
<p>“You should come anyway! Who needs boys, really? We can all go together.”</p>
<p>“I, uh, I’ll think about it.”</p>
<p>Her words bounced around my head all day. More often than not through the next hours, I was mulling over what she’d said instead of paying attention to my classes. The thought of going with them as a group was a bit more appealing than having to wait for someone to ask me - or worse, asking someone myself.</p>
<p>Green eyes, bright in the winter morning sunlight, flitted across my mind, but I shook the image away. I could never ask Harry to go as my date. It would muddy the already tenuous line I’d drawn in the sand between us, one that had blurred enough when I opened his gift to me.</p>
<p>Besides, he probably had dozens of girls he could ask. If I suggested us going together, he would give me that sympathetic smile, tell me I was a great friend, but no. Things would get awkward, uncomfortable, and our friendship would be ruined. I didn’t want that. I didn’t want thing to get weird between us, and I damn sure didn’t need his pity.</p>
<p><i>C’mon, Seren, get it together</i>, I scolded myself firmly as I followed the rest of my classmates toward the door. <i>The dance isn’t even any time soon. Relax</i>. As soon as I stepped into the corridor, my name was called from behind me, and I turned, my lips tugged down in a frown. Miss Letts weaved her way through the students until she came to a stop in front of me.</p>
<p>“As promised, Miss Schulz, the first print. I’ve gone ahead and marked the appropriate page.”</p>
<p>I thanked her as sincerely as possible, but there was no way to hide how my hand shook when I reached out for the magazine. She smiled gently, patting my arm, and disappeared back toward her classroom. I shoved the publication into my bag, drew in a steadying breath, and headed for the exit.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, all of my self-assuring words in the classroom dried up the second I saw Harry just outside the front doors of the school. His attention was solely on the girl talking to him, even when I stepped up beside him, and her eyes darted to me for a split second.</p>
<p>Was it just my imagination that they seemed to be saying ‘Ha-ha, too bad for you, he doesn’t care about you’?</p>
<p>I couldn’t convince myself that she didn’t actually think that, not when Harry didn’t seem to notice me. After another moment of waiting for him to realise I was there, I adjusted my bag on my back and turned toward the house.</p>
<p>The walk was lonely without him by my side, without him there to distract me. Without him there to argue with over books and films and music and everything under the sun. We’d had a routine, and now he was messing that all up by talking to some girl. Scowling, I kicked at a pebble, watched it bounce along the wet pavement to come to a stop in a patch of snow.</p>
<p>Eventually, though, I reached the house and went inside, still absorbed in my thoughts. I couldn’t figure out exactly what bothered me so much about Harry chatting with Marissa - I’d seen him hold conversations with pretty much every girl in the school since I arrived, and it hadn’t ever affected me.</p>
<p>Until now.</p>
<p>He’d chosen to talk to someone else instead of walking home with me as he always did. And whatever I’d begun feeling for him over the last four months was fast becoming a problem. The jealousy - because I was jealous, I couldn’t truthfully deny it - was starting to take over. Things between the two of us were growing strained, even if he didn’t see it.</p>
<p>I bypassed the family room, barely taking a second to explain to Anne that I had homework to do, and closed my bedroom door behind me. The journal she and Robin had given me for Christmas peeked out from under the corner of my pillow; if I didn’t know how haphazardly I’d shoved it under last night, I would think that someone was reading it.</p>
<p>The journal was a blessing. I spent every evening writing in it before I turned the lights out. It helped keep my thoughts from wrapping too tightly around themselves, made it easier to pretend I wasn’t in over my head when it came to Harry.</p>
<p>“I was wondering where you’d run off to.”</p>
<p>I glanced up from the cover of the magazine to see Harry leaning against the door-frame, arms crossed over his chest and a frown tugging at his lips. Shrugging, I turned my gaze back to the magazine.</p>
<p>“Came home. Didn’t wanna interrupt your conversation.”</p>
<p>He chuckled softly then asked after a long moment, “Is everything okay?”</p>
<p>“Yeah, why wouldn’t it be?”</p>
<p>“What’s that?”</p>
<p>“Miss Letts gave it to me earlier. It, uh, it has my essay in it.”</p>
<p>“Can, can I read it?”</p>
<p>Sighing, I tossed the magazine to the end of the bed and pulled my knees up to my chest. His long fingers flipped through the pages until he reached the sticky note, then after flicking a quick glance in my direction, he began to read.</p>

<p></p><blockquote>
  <p></p>
  <div class="center">
    <p><b>Gone but Still Here</b><br/>by Cassidy Landry</p>
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  <p>
    <i>The tenth of September heralds in the end of another year, and my family still waits. For clues, for information, for answers that never come. We wait, day after day, for a sense of closure.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>Two girls - sisters - grew up together. They built worlds full of vibrant rainbows and deepest darks, of people and creatures and everything in between. Hours were spent playing Barbies then, once they outgrew such childish things, painting each other’s nails and doing makeup. Nights passed with conversations held through the vents, little whispers carried along the ducting system of the house. When one got their heart broke by some stupid boy, the other was there with ice cream, Disney films, and copious amounts of art supplies.</i>
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  <p>
    <i>From building snowmen in the winter and putting on summertime concerts in the backyard, running through spring rainstorms and crunching leaves that fell in autumn, they were closer than imaginable. They fought as siblings do, but they were best friends.</i>
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  <p>
    <i>Christine was seventeen-years-old when she disappeared in the middle of the night. It would have been easier, and still would be, if she’d been abducted. Instead, she left a note saying she had to go. She left of her own volition, and our family was torn apart.</i>
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  <p>
    <i>The years I had with her helped shape who I am; I can’t listen to Shania Twain without hearing Christine’s voice in my mind. I can’t watch thick, heavy clouds let loose the rain without seeing two kids dancing. Cold air and snow bring back the memories of all the times our fingers went numb, our cheeks red and freezing, and the hot chocolate we’d drink as soon as we went inside.</i>
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  <p>
    <i>I can’t do a lot of things without thinking of Christine.</i>
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  <p>
    <i>Looking back now, I can see all the signs that she’d changed from the girl I grew up with to the young woman who felt too big for our town. I can pinpoint every time the wedge between us grew larger, and I can understand, so clearly, that her lifestyle wasn’t one I could comprehend. Not when I was only thirteen-years-old.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>But as much as Christine’s presence shaped who I am, her disappearance changed everything. Even I can admit that I don’t trust easily any more. I don’t take things as they come. I am constantly second-guessing my decisions, people in my life, and whether the happiness I feel is real - or if I even deserve it.</i>
  </p>
  <p>
    <i>I have spent the last two years asking where my sister ran off to and if she is ever coming home. My family still has yet to get any answers. At this point, I fully expect I will go to my grave without ever knowing.</i>
  </p>
</blockquote><p>Harry stared at the page with wide eyes, breathing steadily though it was forced. When he looked up at me, there was something in his eyes that too closely resembled pity.</p>
<p>“Miss Letts was right. This was definitely worth publishing.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be daft, it was a stupid essay that I only wrote for a good mark.”</p>
<p>“But it’s honest. It’s… it explains a lot.”</p>
<p>“I don’t even want to know how you’d think that was a compliment.”</p>
<p>He rolled his eyes, swatting at my legs with the magazine. “I didn’t mean it negatively. Did you read what she wrote on the note?”</p>
<p>I shook my head, stretching out my legs, as Harry clambered along the bed to sit next to me. A shiver ran down my spine with the proximity, and my chest tightened while he settled in and held out the paper. There, in my teacher’s severe and tidy handwriting, were the words <i>Thank you for letting me get to know you</i> and a small smiley face.</p>
<p>“And here you thought she hated you.”</p>
<p>“Shut up,” I groaned and pushed at his shoulder until he toppled off the other side of the mattress.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. ☼►sixteen◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>The sun wasn’t even fully up when I woke on Saturday. Shivering, I huddled further into my blankets and tried to get back to sleep, but a cramping in my gut told me I wouldn’t be able to. I grumbled to myself, scrubbing my fingers over my eyes, and stumbled down the hall.</p><p>I hadn’t been able to sleep very well throughout the night. Every time I tried, my mind just dredged up all the memories and emotions of Sophie’s disappearance, the hollowness I thought I had filled with distraction. I had attempted to pace around my room, but even that was unsuccessful. It wasn’t until three that I managed to finally fall asleep, my heart aching and a void in my chest.</p><p>The bathroom door was shut by the time I shuffled closer, and I raised my hand to knock. A voice from the other side stopped me. I recognised the words vaguely as a song I’d heard during all the time I spent with Harry in his bedroom, but instead of a woman singing, it was someone else. Someone with a decidedly familiar voice.</p><p>Rooted to my spot, I listened, enthralled by Harry’s singing, and a smile tugged at my lips. This was yet another surprising facet to the boy, somehow even more shocking than finding out he knew how to knit. The sound of Anne speaking in the kitchen ripped my from my thoughts, and I shook my head, realised how creepy it was to be eavesdropping outside of the bathroom.</p><p>I turned on my heel and scurried away. Emptying my bladder couldn’t wait, though, so I got permission from Anne to use her toilet. My mind was firmly on Harry, his voice singing <i>Sisters of the Moon</i>, as I washed my hands then stared in the mirror. Green eyes, dark curls, long fingers joining up the ends of a thin silver bracelet…</p><p>“Get yourself together,” I demanded quietly when my stomach gave a harsh jerk.</p><p>Once I had eaten a quick breakfast and grabbed a novel from my room, I made my way to Harry’s, dropping to sit on his bed. The sound of the shower shutting off came from down the hall, registering in my mind even as I attempted to lose myself in the story, and I swallowed as my heart began racing. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might come to his room to dress, but now it was all I could think about.</p><p>“You’re good,” I announced from my spot against his headboard, legs crossed, and his steps slowed, though I didn’t look up.</p><p>“Er, what?”</p><p>“Singing. You’re good.”</p><p>“You heard that?”</p><p>Rolling my eyes, I finally glanced up at Harry. “Of course I did. It wasn’t exactly super-quiet. But really, you’ve got a wonderful voice.”</p><p>“Thanks. I was, well, I was maybe thinking of trying out for that show. X Factor.”</p><p>“You should. I think you’d make it through.”</p><p>“I’ll definitely think about it, then.” His smile was brighter than the sunlight pouring in through the windows, and my heart stuttered in my chest at the sight. He shifted to sit closer, leaned forward to see the cover of my book. “What are you reading this time?”</p><p>I lifted the novel so he could see it more clearly, and he cocked his head as he read <i>A Time to Kill</i> aloud. When he asked what it was about, I sucked my lower lip between my teeth and debated whether I should tell him. It certainly wasn’t pleasant reading - the overt racism was enough to turn my stomach even after five re-reads. The first time I read it, I’d had to throw the book aside and run to the bathroom to vomit within the first handful of pages.</p><p>Harry stared expectantly at me, propping his head up on one hand, and I sighed. Maybe an oversimplified summary would be fine enough. So that was what I gave him: A white, Southern lawyer had to defend a black man in court for the murder of two white men who’d attacked his daughter. Oh, and the KKK made an appearance for most of the story.</p><p>Harry’s face twisted into disgust the more I spoke, and he was shaking his head vehemently by the time I finished. My finger idly traced the letters on the cover. I could only imagine what he had to say about the novel; he certainly wouldn’t be the first one to question my tastes in reading material.</p><p>“That sounds… that sounds like an awful book, Star.”</p><p>“No, no. The book itself is <i>great</i>. It’s very well-written, and this is the seventh time I’ve read it, so obviously it’s hard to put down.” I shrugged. “It’s just the events that are awful.”</p><p>“Why are you even reading something like this? Isn’t it meant for, y’know, older people?”</p><p>“Okay, first, that’s rude. There isn’t an age requirement for a damn book. Second, I just, I like books that make me feel, I guess. Like with <i>The Outsiders</i>. I felt that kind of hopelessness and pain that the Greasers felt with their situation. Or, well, at least Pony felt it.</p><p>“ But this one? I feel… anger and despair, disgust and fear, but there’s a hope that runs through it, too. Jake tries his damnedest through everything, even the horrible stuff, because Carl Lee was only doing what any father would do if his child was attacked so viciously.”</p><p>Harry stared at me for a long moment, his green eyes giving away nothing of what he was thinking. Then he blinked, and the moment was gone. I went back to reading as he stood up and made his way across the room. Soon enough, the stereo started playing softly, and his quiet singing joined in.</p><p>His lips quirked into an impish smile when he flopped down onto the bed, his head resting on my knee, and I smiled down at him before turning my attention back to Jake Brigance and the rest of Clanton, Mississippi. <i>Yeah</i>, I thought as I turned the page, <i>he’s definitely going to make it</i>.</p>
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<a name="section0018"><h2>18. ☼►seventeen◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>“Truth or dare.”</p>
<p>I cocked my head and stared at Harry, eyes narrowed as I thought. “Hmm… truth.”</p>
<p>“What’s your favourite animal?”</p>
<p>“Seriously? <i>That</i>’s the truth you want from me? Sheesh, make this easy on me, why don’t ya.”</p>
<p>“Just answer, Seren,” he laughed, pushing at my shoulder, the contact leaving a handprint of warmth on my skin.</p>
<p>“Fine. Ducks.” His brows disappeared into his curly fringe, and I shrugged. “I like ducks. A lot. I, uh, I kinda want a farm full of ducks when I grow up.”</p>
<p>“That’s an interesting life goal.”</p>
<p>My laugh escaped on a sharp exhale, and I swatted at his knee. “Shut up, jerk. So... truth or dare?” I asked once we were calm again, and Harry shifted awkwardly in front of me, knees knocking against mine.</p>
<p>“Er... Truth, I suppose.”</p>
<p>“No fun. Okay, uh, what’s your biggest secret?”</p>
<p>He stared at me with wide eyes, something reminiscent of panic painted on his face. The silence stretched on between us, through the small distance dimly-lit by the lamp. Finally, he shook his head and swiped his palms against his sweats.</p>
<p>“I changed my mind. Dare,”</p>
<p>I pouted rather dramatically - I had thought it was a good question! - but then a thought hit me. My lips curved into a mischievous smile, and I leaned forward until I was sure his attention was fully on me. His jaw dropped when I told him what his dare would be, lips forming silent words as if to argue. Before he could, I reminded him he had already passed on the truth. Backing out of the dare wasn’t allowed.</p>
<p>He sighed heavily, muttered that he hated me, but he clambered off the bed to fulfil his duty anyway. I trailed after him, already barely able to stifle my giggles; they broke loose when he stopped in the archway to the living room and gave me one last pleading look. Gesturing wildly toward where his parents sat on the couch, I gave him what I felt was an encouraging smile. The eye-roll he gave me said otherwise.</p>
<p>I honestly hadn’t expected to find the utter confusion in Anne and Robin’s faces to be so comical. They were almost as hilarious as Harry bending at the waist, tucking his hands into his armpits, and clucking like a chicken - if the chicken sounded like it had a head cold.</p>
<p>He kept it up until his mother cleared her throat and asked what in the world he was doing. That was the approved signal for the end of his dare. He let out a final, ear-piercing <i>squawk</i>! then bolted from the room, my laughter grew louder when I watched rhe adults stare after him as if he’d lost his mind.</p>
<p>“I hate you,” he grumbled once I settled back on the bed. “Why would you make me do that?”</p>
<p>“Because you chose not to answer the truth.”</p>
<p>“My mum is going to think I’ve cracked.”</p>
<p>“Maybe you have, if you think <i>that</i> is what a chicken sounds like.”</p>
<p>He shoved at my shoulder, not bothering to prevent me from falling to the floor. I couldn’t be upset, though. After all, I’d made him act like a farm animal for my own amusement. And god, had it been far more entertaining than I could have hoped for.</p>
<p>Harry’s expression darkened more and more the longer I laughed, which certainly didn’t help matters any. I knew I risked actually irritating him, but I just couldn’t stop laughing. It was a simple, harmless dare, and I was going to take my fill of amusement from it.</p>
<p>A knock sounded on the door, and we both turned our heads to see Anne poking her head into the room. Her face was still twisted up in confusion, but she didn’t say a word about the chicken act. She also didn’t question why I was rolling around on the floor.</p>
<p>“Okay, you two, it’s time to calm down and get to bed. You have school tomorrow.”</p>
<p>I nodded as steadily as I could through my giggles, and she smiled at us before leaving. Harry climbed off the bed and stepped over my body without a word. At the door, he paused then turned to face me.</p>
<p>“I really, really hate you.”</p>
<p>There was a subtle curve to his lips, though, so I knew there was no genuine malice or animosity to his words. He left then, after another heartbeat of staring at me, an undecipherable expression on his face. Once he shut the door behind him, I clambered awkwardly to my feet and tugged back the blankets on my bed.</p>
<p>After brushing my teeth and using the toilet, I shut off the light and stepped out into the hall. A sliver of space was between Harry’s door and the frame, yellow-white light spilling out onto the floor. I tapped lightly at the wood and waited for him to acknowledge me, then pushed the door open.</p>
<p>He looked up from where he was readying for bed, and I bit back a giggle before clucking softly. His lips thinned; I scurried back a few steps when he reached for a pillow. It thumped against the wall where my head was a millisecond before.</p>
<p>Harry got his revenge for my dare: Over the next week, he did everything in his power to irritate me. Never at school, where my reactions would affect my relationships with the friends I’d made or my schoolwork. But at home? It was an entirely different story.</p>
<p>If I was reading, he was right there chattering in my ear about literally everything he could think of in attempts to distract me - which worked. I made no progress in any of the novels I tried to concentrate on. I tried knitting, even though it required more of my attention, but he would bounce on the bed or couch, nudge my arm constantly, and ignore me telling him to stop.</p>
<p>He never took it too far, thankfully, always stopping before my mild frustration turned into full-blown anger. He seemed to know where the line was and kept to his side of it. I did begin calling him “Curly Sue” more often over the week, though.</p>
<p>Anne put her foot down on the eighth day, when she found me dismantling the sofa and moving furniture around, searching desperately in and under everything I could think of. She tugged me to a stop, forced me to face her, and I wrung my hands around each other as I manged to blubber out that I’d lost my bracelet. Before she could say anything else, I pulled away and resumed my frantic movements.</p>
<p>I yanked the drawer from the end-table, no matter how little I thought it might be there. She watched for a moment then disappeared from the room. Over the roar of blood in my ears, I heard her asking Harry what he’d done.</p>
<p>“I didn’t do anything!”</p>
<p>“Then explain why Seren is out there tearing apart the sitting room looking for the bracelet I know was on her vanity this morning.”</p>
<p>“She is?”</p>
<p>Footsteps neared, and Harry and his mother rounded the corner. I barely looked up from where I sprawled on my belly, reaching as far as I could under the television stand.</p>
<p>“Seren, stop. Here, I have your bracelet.”</p>
<p>I froze, stared up at him. The thin chain dangled from the tip of his finger as he held it out to me, and the lamplight glinted off the silver. Yanking my hand out from under the stand, I rushed to my feet, hurried across the room, and swiped the bracelet from his hand. He chewed on his lower lip before opening his mouth.</p>
<p>I didn’t let him have a chance to speak; I shoved past him and scurried to my room. The echo of the door slam was loud behind me, but I couldn’t apologise for that. Not when my heart was pounding so hard, I was nauseous. After tucking the bracelet carefully into the pile of socks in my top bureau drawer, I dropped to sit on the bed, putting my head between my knees.</p>
<p>It was an overreaction. Disproportionate to the situation. I knew it was. There was no reason for me to get so upset about him hiding the bracelet from me. I hadn’t even reacted like that when he put my journal behind the refrigerator or my books in various places around the house. He probably didn’t expect such a response. I certainly hadn’t.</p>
<p>But the bracelet meant more to me than anything else I had. There was no logical explanation as to why that was, but it did. As much as I loved it, I didn’t dare to wear it for fear of losing it. Of losing whatever it was that made it so dear to me.</p>
<p>Burying my face in my hands, I struggled to breathe properly. The visceral panic that had overtaken me was abruptly gone, vanishing into nothingness and leaving me with little more than the vestiges of adrenalin and fear. Exhaustion bled through the empty spaces, weighing down my body. I exhaled shakily and scrubbed my hands over my cheeks, but the tears were still there.</p>
<p>“I’m so sorry.”</p>
<p>I glanced up at Harry’s voice, watched him run a hand through his hair as he smiled sheepishly. I shrugged and picked at a thread on my T-shirt. “It’s, it’s fine.”</p>
<p>“No, Star, it isn’t.” He sat next to me, lacing his fingers together in his lap. “I went too far. I shouldn’t have done that. I just, I didn’t think it would scare you like that.”</p>
<p>“It’s <i>fine</i>, Harry. It was just a stupid overreaction”</p>
<p>“Can you just let me apologise? I did something that scared you and hurt your feelings. I shouldn’t have done. So I’m sorry.”</p>
<p>“You’re forgiven.”</p>
<p>I didn’t feel guilty about the little white lie - I knew I would forgive him in time, regardless of the fact that right now, I just wanted to be angry with him. He hesitated then wrapped an arm around my waist, pulling me into his side, and I let my head fall to his shoulder.</p>
<p>It wasn’t really his fault that I’d lost the plot so much about it. We had been escalating our pranks and retaliations on each other all week, after all. It was bound to happen that one of us would take it too far. I exhaled heavily, closed my eyes.</p>
<p>“I forgive you,” I whispered, and he rested his chin on my head, fingers pressing firmly into my side.</p>
<p>We sat together in silence for a while before I pulled away; Harry watched as I let myself fall backwards onto the mattress, my hand reaching for a pillow. Once it was under my head, I rolled onto my side, curling into a ball, and Harry shoved at me gently until I scooted over.</p>
<p>I didn’t bother questioning it as he laid down next to me. It wasn’t long before the fatigue consumed me, the warmth of him so near comforting me. My heartbeat slowed, my breathing evening out. I fell asleep with my fingers resting against his arm.</p>
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<a name="section0019"><h2>19. ☼►eighteen◄☼</h2></a>
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</div><p>The impromptu nap that I took with Harry seemed to have drained away any residual anger I felt toward him and his prank. It was too hard to hold onto, anyway. He made it impossible to not want to be around him, though it only made my feelings for him grow stronger.</p><p>The weather warmed enough over the next handful of weeks that our heavy coats were no longer necessary, and I took advantage of that as much as I possibly could. Even with a chill in the air, I relished only wearing a thick jumper as I walked around the town with Harry. Our walks were much less comfortable than before, and I only had myself to blame for that.</p><p>I was constantly tripping over my tongue, unable to speak without risking telling him everything and making a fool of myself. He often had to repeat himself in conversations, because I was too far lost in my thoughts of him. My hands itched for the warmth of his, fingers begged to lace with his, but that was little more than a one-sided desire. So I kept distance between us.</p><p>Harry didn’t feel for me what I felt for him, and that was fine. Painful to accept, but I did it, anyway.</p><p>The nickname I’d given him slowly morphed during that time - from Curly Sue to Curly Q and, finally, just Q. “Curly Sue” was reserved only for times when he was being incorrigible, though it was more of a term of endearment, a gentle and affectionate chiding when I needed a break from him pestering me. He rarely took offence to it any more.</p><p>More often than not, I heard him call me by my name, rarely “Star”. Ever since he gave me my Christmas gift, the moniker had become a mere memory, that fact left a bitter taste in my mouth, and the calmness he always brought to me was slowly drowned out by the sharpness of my jealousy, my hurt.</p><p>The time we spent together dwindled, the occasional walks all I had left of our pre-holiday relationship. Residing in the same house didn’t seem to matter much in that regard - I’d stay in my bedroom while he hung out with his friends. Even if Liza invited me over, it was almost a guarantee that I’d turn the invitation down. She was a great friend, and I was so thankful for her ever allowing me into the group. She just… wasn’t Harry.</p><p>I caught Anne and Robin exchanging worried glances whenever I would read in the living room. The looks, full of meaning and silent conversations, served to only frustrate me. They were concerned over nothing; I was fine. Absolutely fine.</p><p>Until I wasn’t.</p><p>Until early-April, when everything changed.</p><p>“Did you hear?”</p><p>Della skidded to a stop next to the table, pushing at Anthony’s arm until he scooted over, and she dropped to the empty space next to him. Her breathing was shaky, rapid, and she reached for Liza’s apple juice. We all waited until she caught her breath, but my skin prickled the entire time, something telling me this was only the beginning of the end.</p><p>“Megan asked Harry to the formal! And,” she started, pausing in an attempt to drum up our excitement, “he said yes!”</p><p>As Liza and Anthony exploded into speech, asking questions about the how and when and <i>who told you this?</i>, I stayed quiet, stunned speechless. It wasn’t entirely unexpected - I’d known without a doubt that someone would jump on the chance to have an amazing guy like Harry as their date - but still… it hurt.</p><p>Forcing a smile when Della caught my eye, I tried to join in on the conversation, but my heart just wasn’t in it. How could it be, when it was reminded that it wasn’t getting what it wanted? I eventually excused myself from the table, though the others didn’t even seem to notice me standing up. I grabbed my bag and rushed off. Liza called after me, but I didn’t bother turning around.</p><p>My feet carried me away from the school, no destination in mind beyond getting far from that particular discussion. The news shouldn’t have hurt nearly as much as it did, and Della’s words rang in my ears. My stomach churned violently, twisting over itself and spilling acid in my blood.</p><p>It was my fault. If I’d just gathered up the courage to ask him myself, maybe he wouldn’t have agreed to be Megan’s date. No, no “maybe” about it; he would have taken pity on the fact that I had no one to go with, and he’d have gone with me. As much as I hated the thought of his pity being the only reason, I loathed the fact that he was going with someone else.</p><p>“Can’t change it now,” I muttered darkly to myself, scrubbing a hand over my cheek when a tear slipped free. “You were an idiot, and now you have to pay the price.”</p><p>A stinging sort of numbness had settled over me by the time I decided to turn toward the house. It was unbearable, the prospect of facing the others - of facing <i>Harry</i> - but I knew Anne would worry too much if I stayed out much longer. She might have even told the programme directors that I’d been gone without permission or checking in, and then I’d have been kicked from the programme with only a few months left.</p><p>She instantly rounded on me the second I stepped through the door, her hands fluttering around as she helped me take off my jacket. All I could do was let her fuss; after all, who was I to take that from her when she’d obviously been concerned? Her lips were thin lines slashing across her face when she gathered my hands in hers.</p><p>“Where have you been? You’re <i>freezing</i>, darling.”</p><p>“I, uh -” I winced when my voice crackled, and her frown grew even larger. Chest aching, I cleared my throat and tried again, “I went on a walk.”</p><p>She peered more closely at me, her fingers coming up to brush against my cheekbone. “For three hours? What’s wrong, love?”</p><p>“Nothing. Just, just lost track of time, that’s all. I’m sorry for making you worry.”</p><p>She frowned but let me go. All I wanted to do at that moment was fall into her arms and cry - both from her kindness and from the jagged pieces cutting my chest open from the inside out. Instead, I manipulated my lips into a weak semblance of a smile and headed to my room. Guilt gnawed at my gut. I hated that she was worrying.</p><p>As much as I wanted to tell her what was going on, I couldn’t. I couldn’t tell her what I was thinking and feeling. Things were already awkward enough, and I refused to be selfish enough to make it even worse. And telling a mother that you were pretty much in love with her son who you only met because she was nice enough to open her home for you? That would have been the worst thing I could possibly have done.</p><p>The next two weeks slipped by. Days were quick, blurring one into the other, but the nights… they dragged on, spent staring at the ceiling or curled into a ball on my bed, wanting nothing more than to tiptoe down the hall to Harry’s bedroom. I never did, though. I barely spoke to him during waking hours, and I often caught him staring at me, confusion in his eyes. He never asked, though, so I never explained.</p><p>“Why are you - Seren? Aren’t you going to get dressed?”</p><p>I shook my head and finished rinsing the dish I’d just washed. Opening my mouth was an awful idea, especially right now. I’d spent the day listening to all of my friends talking about the formal. I had been asked to go, sure, by a very sweet boy whose name I couldn’t remember now. I said no - partially on instinct, but mostly because he wasn’t Harry.</p><p>Liza was annoyed that I declined attending, even as a group, but Della had all but strong-armed her into accepting that I would be at home tonight.</p><p>I felt a smidgen of remorse at having rejected him, considering he’d gathered up the courage to even approach me in the first place, and for not having given it all that much thought. I just wasn’t able to entertain the thought of going with anyone else. The worst part of it all, though, had been watching Megan and Harry together, laughing and chatting easily as I felt more of my heart break.</p><p>I had to admit that she made a better fit for him than I ever could. She lived in the same town and not an ocean away. She was funny and clever and brilliant. If I wasn’t so jealous of her, I’m sure she and I would have been decent friends. But I was. I envied her for her clear blue eyes, long dark hair, and flawless fashion outside of the school halls.</p><p>Most of all, I envied that she caught Harry’s attention in a way I never would.</p><p>It hadn’t gotten any easier to deal with the fact that she and Harry were an item now. Even if it was only for tonight, they were a thing, and I couldn’t change that. Harry had stopped trying to talk to me a few days ago, evidently growing tired of waiting for me to say something first. Though it hurt something fierce, I didn’t try to change it.</p><p>Anne’s hand on my wrist stopped me from reaching for the next plate, and she tugged me to face her while shutting off the tap. I sighed but forced myself to meet her gaze. Brushing a lock of hair from my face, she frowned at whatever she saw in my expression.</p><p>“Darling, talk to me.”</p><p>“I’m fine, I promise,” I whispered after a moment, swallowing thickly against the tears. “I’m just… I’m not a big fan of dances.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Yeah, I’m okay. No need to worry about me.”</p><p>She nudged me to scoot over, and I reached for a dishtowel to dry the clean dishes as she took over the washing. We worked in silence, though my thoughts were far from the task. Maybe she could see that, since she didn’t say a word. Besides, how could I possibly think of anything but the fact that just down the hall, Harry was readying himself for the formal.</p><p>“Oh, you look so wonderful!”</p><p>I looked back over my shoulder, absentmindedly wiping the dishtowel across the plate in my hand, at Anne’s pride-drenched voice. Something tightened in my chest at the sight of Harry, stood just inside the room, smiling awkwardly under his mother’s compliments. She was right, though. He did look amazing.</p><p>The suit he wore fit him like a glove, and his hair had been tamed from the wild curls he usually sported. Not a thing was out of place in his appearance. Even the uncomfortable smile on his face was perfect.</p><p>Harry let his mother embrace him tightly, though the long-suffering expression on his face was clearly exaggerated. His green eyes met mine over her shoulder, his grin slipping, and I swallowed before pivoting on my heel. Chest aching and throat closing with tears, I sniffled as quietly as possible as I faced the sink.</p><p>The plate slipped from my fingers, bounced off the edge of the counter, and hit the floor with a crash. Shards of porcelain scattered across the tile, a sea of shattered ceramic on white linoleum. My face grew hot and cold simultaneously, and tears welled up in my eyes. Stomach churning, I clapped a hand over my mouth, but it did no good: My sob bubbled out of me anyway.</p><p>Anne was at my side in an instant, arms wrapping around me without hesitation. I didn’t have the energy - or desire - to fight her off, so I buried my face against her shoulder and let my tears stain the collar of her shirt.</p><p>She made soft shushing noises as she guided me away from the jagged remains of the plate, pushed me to sit in a chair at the table, and ran a hand over my hair before heading off for a dishtowel. I covered my face with the towel, and the room filled with the telltale clatter of a kettle being placed on the stovetop.</p><p>The tears kept coming, soaking into the fabric and painting my cheeks. Somewhere under the pain and jealousy, mortification sprang to life, stretched its limbs as it roared its presence. I never wanted any of them to see me like this, least of all Harry.</p><p>Eventually, I managed to calm down enough to drag in unsteady breaths, and Anne sat in the seat beside me, her hand comforting as it rubbed circles into my back. A mug of tea slid into place in front of me, and I managed a wobbly, grateful smile in Harry’s direction.</p><p>I couldn’t maintain eye contact for long, not with the way he was staring at me with so much - <i>too much</i> - concern. The towel scratched at my cheeks when I wiped away the tears, and I held onto that unpleasant sensation on my skin, kept myself grounded with it.</p><p>Nobody spoke, the room damned with the silence, but their gazes were heavy on me. Words failed me. There was nothing I could say to explain my reaction, not without spilling the truth of everything I’d bottled up for so long. I cleared my throat quietly, stared down at the pale yellow towel in my hands.</p><p>“You’re going to be late picking Megan up,” I reminded Harry, and the words nearly choked me.</p><p>“I want to make sure you’re okay.” He hesitated then rested his hand in my shoulder; I subconsciously, instinctively, leaned into the warmth of his touch. “It’s only a dance. You’re... you’re my friend, you’re more important.”</p><p>“I’m fine. Please, go. Have fun.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p><i>I’m not</i>. The small voice in my head rebelled against the lie I so easily told, but the lie worked. He stopped acting as if I was a house of cards on the verge of collapse, heading toward the front door.</p><p>Anne pressed a gentle kiss to my temple and stood. With an order for me to leave the mess on the floor, she walked out of the room with her son, but I didn’t miss the worried look he tossed back to me over his shoulder.</p><p>I waited until they were out of sight before pushing to my feet. My knees shook violently under me, and I had to take a moment to breathe, in and out, measured inhales and exhales designed to ease the turbulence in my soul. Once I was steady enough to walk without falling, I reached for the broom and dustpan.</p><p>There was something about the glittering shards of blue-painted porcelain being swept into a pile and dumped into the bin that said more than I could ever understand.</p>
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